THE  PSYCHOLOGY 
OF  RELIGION 


By 

GEORGE  ALBERT  COE 


Professor  in  the  Union  Theological  Seminary 
Neiv  York  City 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CHICAGO  PRESS 
CHICAGO,  ILLINOIS 


COPYRIGHT  igi6  By 
THE  UNIVERSITY  at  CHICAGO 


All  Rights  Reserved 


Published  December  19x6 
Second  Impression  January  1917 


Composed  and  Printed  By 

The  University  of  Chicago  Press 

Chicago,  Illinois,  U.S.A. 


TO  A  VERY  HUMAN  PERSON 

To  know  you 

is  to  behold  the  splendor  of  life 
and  its  mystery 

To  know  you 

is  to  discover  that  religious  faith 

if  it  is  possible 

is  necessary 

How  can  I  know  you 
and  still  be  without  religious  faith  ? 

Therefore  to  you 

I  dedicate  this  study  of  the  human 
naturalness  of  religion 


349338 


PREFACE 

This  work  is  intended  primarily  as  a  handbook  for 
beginners  in  the  psychological  analysis  of  religion.  The 
foremost  concern,  therefore,  has  been  to  make  clear  the 
nature  of  the  problems,  the  kinds  of  data,  the  methods  of 
research,  and  the  achieved  results. 

The  justification  for  attempting  such  a  handbook 
lies  partly  in  the  inherent  difficulty  of  analyzing  religious 
experience,  and  partly  in  conditions  that  grow  out  of 
the  extreme  youth  of  the  psychology  of  religion.  We 
are  still  in  the  beginnings — plural — of  this  enterprise. 
Of  ten  recent  writers  who  have  published  volumes  of  a 
general  character  devoted  largely  or  wholly  to  the  sub- 
ject, no  three  pursue  the  same  method,  or  hold  the  same 
point  of  view  as  to  what  the  religious  consciousness  is. 
I  refer  to  Ames,  Durkheim,  Hoffding,  James,  King, 
Leuba,  Pratt,  Starbuck,  Stratton,  and  Wundt.  Such 
disparity  is  not  a  reproach  to  a  scientific  inquiry  in  its 
first  stages,  but  rather  a  sign  of  its  vitality.  But  students 
who  are  approaching  the  subject  for  the  first  time  are 
likely  to  be  confused  by  the  seeming  babel,  even  though 
it  be  more  apparent  than  real,  or  else — and  this  is  a  more 
common  and  a  greater  evil — to  suppose  that  the  first 
tongue  that  they  happen  to  hear  speaks  the  one  exclu- 
sive language  of  science.  I  have  therefore  attempted, 
not  only  to  sharpen  the  outlines  of  problems,  but  also 
to  provide,  particularly  in  the  alphabetical  and  topical 
bibliographies,  convenient  apparatus  for  following  up 

ix 


x  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

problems,  and  especially  for  setting  them  in  a  scientific 
perspective. 

My  first  intention  was  to  make  this  work  simply  a 
handbook.  But  inasmuch  as  even  an  introduction  to 
the  researches  of  others  is  bound  to  represent  some 
standpoint  of  one's  own,  and  inasmuch  as  candor  is  best 
served  by  making  standpoints  explicit,  I  decided  to 
include  a  rather  extended  statement  of  certain  inquiries 
and  conclusions  that  I  have  found  more  and  more  inter- 
esting and,  as  I  believe,  fruitful.  The  upspringing  of 
functional  analysis  of  mental  life  is  likely  to  prove 
immensely  significant  for  the  sciences  of  man,  who 
contemplates  and  judges  his  own  functions.  But  func- 
tionalism  in  psychology  is  still  in  its  infancy — it  is  only 
now  discovering  its  own  fingers  and  toes.  It  is  working 
with  categories  borrowed  from  biology,  not  clearly 
realizing  that  it  has  taken  for  its  parish  the  whole 
world  of  values.  To  meet  this  situation  I  have  felt  it 
necessary,  not  only  to  assume  the  standpoint  of  func- 
tional analysis,  but  also  to  investigate  it.  The  result 
is  a  view  of  religion  that  does  not  separate  it  at  all  from 
instinct,  yet  finds  its  peculiar  function  elsewhere. 

I  have  not  attempted  a  balanced  treatment  of  the 
whole  subject  of  the  psychology  of  religion.  Rather,  I 
have  brought  into  the  foreground  the  problems  that 
seem  to  be  most  pressing  at  the  present  moment.  Here, 
without  doubt,  my  own  mind  reveals  its  leanings.  I 
have  no  desire  to  conceal  them.  All  attention,  in  fact, 
is  selective;  all  investigation  is  moved  by  a  greater 
interest  in  something  than  in  something  else. 

It  is  not  always  necessary  to  make  one's  interests 
explicit,  but  investigation  of  the  more  intimate  aspects 


PREFACE  xi 

of  experience  that  we  call  valuational  proceeds  best 
upon  a  basis  of  frank  self-revelation.  The  investigator 
of  the  psychology  of  religion,  whatever  be  the  case  with 
others,  cannot  afford  to  neglect  the  psychology  of  his 
own  psychologizing.1 

That  the  reader  may  duly  weigh  my  tendencies, 
they  are  made  explicit  rather  than  carried  along  as 
suppressed  premises  in  supposedly  impersonal  think- 
ing— as  though  there  could  be  thinking  without  a 
motived  will-to-think.2  As  a  further  aid  to  critical 
reading  of  this  work,  I  here  and  now  set  down  a 
list  of  my  attitudes  with  respect  to  religion  and  to 
the  psychology  of  religion.  The  reader  may  then 

1  One  writer,  Professor  J.  H.  Leuba,  has  set  a  good  precedent  by 
frankly  letting  his  readers  know  something  of  his  religious  experience. 
Naturally,  he  thinks  that  his  own  experience  has  brought  him  into 
"the  ideal  condition  for  the  student  of  religion"  (A  Psychological  Stttdy 
of  Religion  [New  York,  1912],  p.  275,  and  note)!  On  the  danger  of  the 
"psychologist's  fallacy"  in  the  psychology  of  religion,  see  W.  F.  Cooley, 
"Can  Science  Speak  the  Decisive  Word  in  Theology?"  Journal  of 
Philosophy,  X  (1913),  296-301. 

*  Such  limitations  are  not  peculiar  to  investigations  in  which,  as 
in  the  present  instance,  the  valuational  aspect  of  consciousness  is  in 
the  foreground.  It  is  a  general  rule  that  scientific  men  are  more  certain 
of  their  generalizations  than  of  their  data.  The  least  certain  parts  of 
psychology,  for  example,  are  revealed  in  current  discussions  of  the 
nature  of  the  psychical,  and  of  the  nature  and  method  of  psychology. 
In  the  same  way  the  biologist  finds  himself  hard  pressed  to  say  just  what 
the  difference  is  between  a  vital  phenomenon  and  any  other.  Every 
investigator,  whatever  his  specialty,  as  a  matter  of  fact  (i)  selects  his 
data,  and  (2)  treats  them  from  the  standpoint  of  a  particular  interest. 
What  a  blessing  it  would  be  if  a  catalogue  could  be  made  of  the  prin- 
ciples of  selection  actually  employed,  and  of  the  particular  interests 
that  determine  analyses,  in  each  science!  But — this  would  plunge  us 
into  the  problem  of  values,  and  into  philosophy!  Rather  than  take 
this  plunge  let  us  keep  up  the  delusion  that  as  scientific  men  we  de- 
personalize ourselves  into  "clear,  cold  logic-engines"! 


xii  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

judge   for  himself   the   extent   to  which  they  act  as 
prejudices. 

1.  The    religious    enterprise    is    to    me    the    most 
important   undertaking   in   life.     Much   is   at   stake. 
This  importance  of  religion  attaches  to  some  extent 
also  to  efforts  to  analyze  religion.    For  such  efforts,  by 
focusing  attention  on  one  point  or  another,  may  result 
in  either  the  heightening  or  the  lowering  of  appreciation 
for  something  valuable. 

2.  I  do  not  appeal  to  any  religious  experience  of  my 
own  as  settling  for  me  any  question  of  psychology. 
Nor  do  I  accept  as  authoritative  the  report  of  anyone 
else  that  such  questions  have  been  settled  by  his  experi- 
ence.   Every  religious  experience,  without  exception,  is 
to  me  a  datum,  to  be  examined  by  analytic  processes 
that  do  not  appear  or  that  are  undeveloped  in  the 
experience  itself.    Now,  it  is  of  the  essence  of  religious 
dogma  to  assert  that  somebody — pope,  council,  prophet, 
inspired  writer — has  had  a  religious  experience  that  does 
settle  certain  psychological  questions  concerning  itself— 
such  questions,  for  example,  as  the  difference  between 
this  experience  and  ordinary  experiences,  the  way  in 
which  certain  ideas  have  got  into  the  mind,  and  much 
more.    This  fact,  as  well  as  general  considerations  of 
history  and  of  scientific  method,  make  it  impossible  for 
me  to  reconcile  the  psychology  of  religion  with  any 
dogmatic  authority. 

3.  On  the  other  hand,  the  religious  urgency  that  I 
have  already  mentioned  makes  me  more  or  less  cautious 
with  regard  to  the  content  of  religious  tradition — par- 
ticularly the  Christian  tradition  in  which  I  have  been 
reared.   Here  I  find,  not  a  dead  body  awaiting  dissection, 


PREFACE  xiii 

but  a  living  being — one  needing  surgery,  I  am  sure,  but 
alive,  and  to  live.  Freedom  from  intellectual  authority 
and  the  practice  of  psychologizing  religious  facts  have 
rather  intensified  than  lessened  my  conviction  (i)  that 
within  the  historical  movement  broadly  called  the  Chris- 
tian religion  the  human  spirit  has  come  to  demand  more 
of  life  than  it  has  demanded  elsewhere,  that  is,  that  in 
this  religion  we  have  the  greatest  of  all  stimuli;  and 
(2)  that  this  stimulus  both  proceeds  from  and  points  to 
reality.  I  entertain  as  my  own,  in  short,  the  Christian 
faith  in  divine  fatherhood  and  human  brotherhood,  and 
I  work  cordially  within  a  Christian  church  to  make  this 
religion  prevail.  Quite  naturally,  no  doubt,  I  assume 
that  looking  at  religion  from  the  inside  helps  rather  than 
hinders  analysis,  and  I  certainly  find  no  motive  in  the 
Christian  religion  for  undervaluing  other  religions  or 
even  non-religions;  the  principle  of  brotherhood  makes 
me  expect  to  find  something  of  myself  in  the  other  man's 
point  of  view.  But  if  any  reader  thinks  that  being  thus 
religious  has  warped  my  psychology,  I  request  that  he 
will  do  two  things:  (i)  not  rest  in  any  general  surmise 
or  assumption,  but  find  the  specific  facts  that  have  been 
neglected,  misrepresented,  or  misanalyzed,  and  (2)  ex- 
amine his  own  way  of  getting  at  the  inside  of  the  same 
facts,  that  is,  confess  his  own  interests  as, I  am  now 
confessing  mine.  In  this  way  he  will  not  only  correct 
my  one-sidedness,  but  also  hasten  the  correction  of  his 
own,  and  science  will  move  the  faster  up  its  zigzag  trail. 
4.  My  religious  experience  has  been  as  free  from 
mysticism  as  it  has  been  from  dogmatism.  Indeed,  the 
chief  incitement  to  seek  mystical  experiences  came  to 
me  wrapped  up  in  dogma,  and  the  disappointment  of 


xiv  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

my  adolescence,  when  the  promised  and  sought-for 
mystical  " witness  of  the  Spirit"  did  not  come,  caused 
me  to  turn  away  from  both  the  dogmatic  and  the  mys- 
tical approach  to  religion.  Not  far  from  the  middle  of 
my  college  days  it  was  settled — though  I  could  not 
then  realize  how  well  settled — that  thenceforth  I 
should  look  for  the  center  of  gravity  of  religion  in  the 

Amoral  will.  I  do  not  rely  upon  intuitions,  nor  make  the 
subconscious  my  refuge  in  the  day  of  critical  adversity. 
Life  seems  to  me  to  be  an  ethical  enterprise;  my  life 
problem  concerns  the  choice  of  my  cause,  the  invest- 
ment of  my  purposes;  and  this,  surely,  implies  distrust 
of  anything  that  evaporates  in  the  sunlight  of  my  most 
critical  self-possession. 

>./,?  5.  From  the  standpoint  of  the  moral  will,  the  rational 
i  possibility  of  faith  in  a  personal  God  and  in  life  after 
death  seems  to  me  to  be  immensely  important.  For  I 
conceive  the  ethical  in  social  terms,  and  therefore  for 
me  persons  are  the  paramount  reality.  If  I  had  any 
merely  individual  self -consciousness,  its  continuance  after 
death,  or  before  death,  would  not  be  clearly  worth  while. 
Our  life  gets  its  meaning,  its  reality,  by  being  social. 
But  when  once  it  has  this  meaning,  how  can  one  consent 
to  perish  or  to  let  others  perish  without  moral  protest  ? 
If  our  current  social  thinking  does  not  view  the  question 
of  survival  after  death  as  an  acute  social  problem,  it  is 
because  we  have  already  made  an  unsocial  assent  to  the 
idea  of  a  death  that  ends  all;  it  is  because  our  sociality 
is  trunkated.  So  with  regard  to  God.  It  is  socially 
desirable  that  "an  ideal  socius"  should  exist.  If  this 
desire  is  only  slightly  in  evidence  in  much  of  our  social 
thinking,  the  reason,  as  before,  is  that  we  have  steeled 


PREFACE  XV 

ourselves  not  to  desire  too  great  a  social  good.  I,  for 
one,  am  unwilling  to  subject  myself  to  any  such  self- 
discipline.  I  will  not  curb  my  heart  as  long  as  its  desires 
are  truly  social.  My  personal  religion,  in  fact,  consists, 
first  and  foremost,  in  the  emancipation  of  social  desire. 
6.  Finally,  I  own  up  to  a  strong  aversion  to  dog- 
matism in  science  as  well  as  in  religion.  In  scientific 
circles,  just  as  in  religion,  politics,  and  business,  there 
are  orthodoxies  and  heresies,  and  both  orthodoxy  and 
heresy  may  be  dogmatic.  I  am  inclined  to  think  that 
science  takes  itself  too  seriously  at  times.  Possibly  we 
could  become  more  scientific  by  cultivating  a  sense  of 
humor!  How  would  it  do  to  start  a  "  Scientific  Gridiron 
Club"  for  the  purpose  of  "roasting"  our  foibles  ?  Once 
a  year  we  could  play  the  harlequin  with  our  freshly 
discarded  convictions  and  with  our  freshly  adopted  ones 
alike.  We  could  see  ourselves  following  scientific  fads 
and  running  in  scientific  herds,  being  moved,  like  the 
profane,  by  suggestion.  We  could  coolly  gaze  upon  the 
heat  and  the  haste  with  which  we  have  endeavored  to 
preach  and  to  legislate  for  life.  We  could,  in  short, 
behold  science  as  an  exhibition  of  human  nature.  The 
psychology  of  religion  may  be  expected,  of  course,  to 
modifiy  to  some  extent  our  religious  practices  and  our 
theological  notions,  but  it  is  not  likely  to  fill  with  great 
success  the  role  of  prophet,  or  of  pope,  or  even  of  business 
manager! 

GEORGE  A.  COE 

NEW  YORK  CITY 
June,  1916 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

PREFACE ix 

CHAPTER 

I.  RELIGION  AS  AN  OBJECT  OF  PSYCHOLOGICAL  STUDY  i 

II.  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  MENTAL  MECHANISMS  AND 

THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  PERSONS 14 

Appendix:  On  the  Specific  Nature  of  Mental 

Functions 32, 

III.  THE  DATA,  AND  How  THEY  ARE  ASCERTAINED    .  43 

IV.  PRELIMINARY  ANALYSIS  OF  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUS- 
NESS        59 

RACIAL  BEGINNINGS  IN  RELIGION    ....  76 

THE  GENESIS  OF  THE  IDEA  OF  GOD        ...  96 

VII.  RELIGION  AND  THE  RELIGIONS         ....  107 

VIII.  RELIGION  AS  GROUP  CONDUCT         .       .       .       .  119 

IX.  RELIGION  AS  INDIVIDUAL  CONDUCT        .       .       .  136 

X.  CONVERSION 152 

XI.  MENTAL  TRAITS  OF  RELIGIOUS  LEADERS      .       .  175 

,  XII.  RELIGION  AND  THE  SUBCONSCIOUS  .       .       .       .  193 

XIII.  THE  RELIGIOUS  REVALUATION  OF  VALUES    .       .  215 

XIV.  RELIGION  AS  DISCOVERY 229 

XV.  RELIGION  AS  SOCIAL  IMMEDIACY      .       .       .       .  246 

XVI.  MYSTICISM 263 

XVII.  THE  FUTURE  LIFE  AS  A  PSYCHOLOGICAL  PROBLEM  286 

XVIII.  PRAYER 302 

XIX.  THE  RELIGIOUS  NATURE  OF  MAN    .       .       .       .  321 

ALPHABETICAL  BIBLIOGRAPHY 327 

TOPICAL  BIBLIOGRAPHY 346 

INDEX 357 

xvii 


CHAPTER  I 

RELIGION  AS  AN  OBJECT  OF  PSYCHOLOGICAL  STUDY 

The  closing  years  of  the  nineteenth  century  and  the 
opening  years  of  the  twentieth  mark  the  beginning  of  a 
definite  determination  to  use  the  resources  of  scientific 
psychology  in  the  investigation  of  religion.  The  roots 
of  modern  science  reach  far  into  the  past,  of  course;  yet 
a  distinctly  new  departure  was  made  when  systematic, 
empirical  methods  were  employed  in  order  to  analyze 
religious  conversion  and  thus  place  it  within  the  general 
perspective  of  the  natural  sciences.1  Associated  with  the 
interest  in  conversion  there  quickly  arose  inquiry  into 
the  wider  problem  of  mysticism.2  Coincidently  with  such 

1  The  earliest  articles  bearing  on  this  topic  are  as  follows:  G.  Stanley 
Hall,  "The  Moral  and  Religious  Training  of  Children  and  Adolescents," 
Pedagogical  Seminary,  I  (1891),  196  ff.;  A.  H.  Daniels,  "The  New  Life," 
American  Journal  of  Psychology,  VI  (1893),  6l  ff-5  J-  H.  Leuba,  "A 
Study  in  the  Psychology  of  Religious  Phenomena,"  ibid.,  VII  (1896), 
3095.;  W.  H.  Burnham,  "The  Study  of  Adolescence,"  Pedagogical 
Seminary,  I  (1891),  2ff;  E.G.  Lancaster,  "  Psychology  and  Pedagogy  of 
Adolescence,"  Pedagogical  Seminary,  V  (1895),  Jff;  E.  D.  Starbuck, 
"A  Study  of  Conversion,"  American  Journal  of  Psychology,  VIII  (1897), 
268  ff.;  "Some  Aspects  of  Religious  Growth,"  ibid.,  IX  (1898),  70  ff. 
These  articles  were  succeeded  by  the  following  volumes  devoted  largely 
or  wholly  to  conversion  and  kindred  phenomena:  E.  D.  Starbuck, 
The  Psychology  of  Religion  (London,  1899);  G.  A.  Coe,  The  Spiritual 
Life  (New  York,  1900);  W.  James,  The  Varieties  of  Religious  Experience 
(London,  1902). 

a  Typical  of  this  interest  are:  J.  H.  Leuba,  "Tendances  fonda- 
mentales  des  mystiques  chre"tiens,"  Revue  philosophique,  LIV  (1902), 
1-36  and  441-87;  "On  the  Psychology  of  a  Group  of  Christian  Mystics," 
Mind,  XIV  (1905),  15-27;  M.  Delacroix,  Etudes  d'histoireetde psychol- 
ogic du  mysticisme  (Paris,  1908).  James's  Varieties  of  Religious  Expert 
ence  (1902)  and  J.  B.  Pratt's  Psychology  of  Religious  Belief  (New  York, 
1907)  are  to  a  considerable  degree  arguments  for  the  truth  of  mysticism. 


2  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

studies  of  individual  life  came  investigations  of  the 
earliest  forms  of  religion.1  Investigation  of  origins  both 
included  and  stimulated  attempts  at  a  critical  deter- 
mination of  the  nature  of  religion  and  its  relation  to 
human  evolution.2  Finally,  the  systematization  of  re- 
sults in  general  surveys  of  the  whole  field  has  begun.3 
The  whole  constitutes  a  fresh  chapter  that  belongs  on 
the  one  hand  to  psychology  and  on  the  other  to  the 
science  of  religion. 

Attempts  to  psychologize  this  or  that  phase  of  religion 
are  not  new,  of  course,  fwhat  is  new  is  the  use  of  critical, 
empirical  methods,  ana  the  specific  results  of  applying 
them.^  One  could  write  a  long  history  of  what  may  be 
called^  in  no  opprobrious  sense,  the  quasi-psychology  of 
religion,  that  is,  attempts  to  conceive  religion,  or  parts 
of  it,  in  terms  of  mental  structure  or  of  mental  process, 
but  without  a  method  sufficiently  critical  to  correct 
erroneous  statements  of  fact  or  of  law.  Inner  religion, 
when  it  becomes  reflective,  commonly  attempts  to  psy- 
chologize. Thus  the  New  Testament  writers,  Paul  in 
particular,  have  views  concerning  the  structure  of  the 
mind  (soul,  spirit,  the  flesh,  etc.)  and  the  inner  working 

1  For  example:  Irving  King,  The  Development  of  Religion  (New 
York,  1910);  E.  Durkheim,  Les  Formes  elementaires  de  la  vie  religieuse 
(Paris,  1912);  W.  Wundt,  Elemente  der  Volkerpsychologie  (Leipzig, 


2  G.  M.  Stratton,  Psychology  of  the  Religious  Life  (London,  1911); 
J.  H.  Leuba,  A  Psychological  Study  of  Religion  (New  York,  1912). 

3  E.  S.  Ames,  Psychology  of  Religious  Experience  (Boston,  1910). 
J.  B.  Pratt,  in  his  article  "The  Psychology  of  Religion,"  Harvard  Theo- 
logical Review,  I  (1908),  435-54,  gives  an  outline  of  the  movement  up 
to  the  date  of  his  writing. 


RELIGION  AS  A  PSYCHOLOGICAL  STUDY          3 

of  spiritual  influences,  divine  and  demonic!1  Tertullian 
(ca.  155-222)  defends  Christianity  against  its  detractors 
by  declaring  that  "The  soul  is  naturally  Christian,"2 
and  that  the  persecutors  themselves  bear  unintentional 
witness  to  the  things  that  they  would  stamp  out.3  He 
goes  so  far  in  his  treatise  on  the  soul  as  to  attempt 
a  psychology  of  the  Christian  soul.  Augustine,  Pascal, 
and  unnumbered  others  found  God,  as  they  thought, 
by  studying  the  soul  of  man. 

To  dissect  out  the  quasi-psychological  elements  in 
theology  would  require  a  survey  of  very  nearly  the 
whole  history  of  Christian  doctrine.  The  natural  man, 
creationism  and  traducianism,  dichotomy  and  tri- 
chotomy, inspiration,  regeneration,  free  will,  the  person 
of  Christ — these  are  some  of  the  angles  from  which 
theologians  have  made  the  mind  of  man,  as  they  have 
believed,  an  object  of  study.  Schleiermacher  (1768- 
1834),  with  his  insistence  that  religion  is  neither  belief 
nor  action,  but  feeling,  gave  a  psychologic  direction  to  all 
progressive  theology.  We  must  look  for  the  essence  of 
religion,  he  argues,  in  the  interior  of  the  soul  itself. 
" Otherwise,"  he  says,  "ye  will  understand  nothing  of 
religion,  and  it  will  happen  to  you  as  to  one  who,  bring- 
ing his  tinder  too  late,  hunts  for  the  fire  which  the  flint 
has  drawn  from  the  steel,  and  finds  only  a  cold  and 
meaningless  particle  of  base  metal,  with  which  he  cannot 

1  See  M.  S.  Fletcher,  The  Psychology  of  the  New  Testament  (New 
York:  Hodder  &  Stoughton  Co.).  The  title  of  this  work  seems 
hardly  fortunate.  In  these  days  the  term  psychology  should  connote 
scientific  method,  which,  of  course,  the  New  Testament  writers 
lacked. 

a  Apology  xvii. 

3  Testimony  of  the  Soul  vi. 


4  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

kindle  anything."1  Again,  arguing  that  the  reality  of 
religion  cannot  be  found  in  sacred  literature,  but  only 
in  the  soul's  experiences,  he  exclaims,  "If  you  only 
knew  how  to  read  between  the  lines!''2 

Philosophical  as  well  as  religious  interests  have 
inspired  attempts  at  a  psychological  account  of  religion. 
Lucretius,  quoting  Petronius,  declares  that  the  basis  of 
religion  is  fear:  "It  is  fear  that  first  made  the  gods." 
Hume  opens  his  Natural  History  of  Religion  (1755)  with 
a  distinction  between  questions  that  concern  the  ration- 
ality of  religion  and  those  that  concern  its  "origin  in 
human  nature."  Many  philosophers,  indeed,  have  had 
theories  of  the  relation  of  religion  to  human  nature. 
Hegel,  for  example,  regarded  religion  as  a  particular 
stage  in  the  process  whereby^ God  comes  to  self- 
consciousness  in  man^  Ludwig  Feuerbach,  reversing 
this  position,  held  that  the  gods  are  merely  projections 
of  man's  wishes,  so  that  in  religion  man  comes  to 
consciousness  merely  of  what  he  himself  is. 

Finally,  the  history  of  religion,  which  has  made 
great  strides  during  the  last  two  generations,  has  com- 
monly called  psychological  conceptions  to  its  aid.  What, 
indeed,  can  a  history  of  religion  be — as  distinguished 
from  a  history  of  doctrines  or  of  institutions — but  an 
account  of  certain  mental  reactions  as  related  to  the 
situations  in  which  they  arise  and  grow? 

Nevertheless,  neither  theology,  philosophy,  nor  the 
history  of  religion  has  succeeded  in  producing  a  psy- 
chology of  religion  in  the  present  sense  of  the  term 
"psychology."  They  have  turned  attention  to  one  or 
another  phase  of  the  enormous  complex  called  "religion," 

*Reden  (ed.  of  1806),  p.  33.  2  Ibid.,  p.  56. 


RELIGION  AS  A  PSYCHOLOGICAL  STUDY          5 

and  thereby  they  have  stimulated  inquiry.  The  history 
of  religion  has,  in  addition,  accumulated  large  masses 
of  data  for  the  psychologist's  use.  Isolated  views  have 
been  reached  that  may  claim  a  permanent  place  in 
psychology.  But  a  scientific  psychology  of  religion  is 
something  more  than  an  incident  of  philosophy,  theology, 
and  the  history  of  religion.  It  implies,  in  particular, 
critical  systematic  methods  for  ascertaining  data  and 
for  placing  them  within  the  general  perspective  of  mental 
life. 

The  present  movement  for  a  psychology  of  religion 
is  due  to  several  new  and  favorable  conditions.  In  the 
first  place,  psychology  itself  has  just  become  an  inde- 
pendent science,  with  many  men  devoting  themselves 
exclusively  to  it.  The  first  psychological  laboratory, 
that  of  Wundt,  was  established  as  late  as  1875.  Since 
this  date  we  have  witnessed  the  upspringing  of  such 
fairly  well-organized  branches  of  the  science  as  animal 
psychology,  genetic  and  educational  psychology,  and 
abnormal  psychology.  Beginnings  have  been  made, 
also,  in  social  and  anthropological  psychology.  In  the 
second  place,  recent  anthropological  research,  conducted 
with  unprecedented  thoroughness,  has  uncovered  a  vast 
quantity  of  material  that  bears  upon  the  evolution  of 
religion.  Thirdly,  there  has  occurred,  chiefly  in  these 
years,  a  general  assimilation  of  the  historical-evolutionary 
principle  as  applied  to  the  higher  elements  of  culture. 
Notable,  from  the  standpoint  of  our  present  interest,  is 
the  firm  establishment  of  the  historical  study  of  the 
Bible,  commonly  called  the  higher  criticism.  Fourthly, 
and  finally,  an  ancient  obstacle  to  the  scientific  study 
of  religion,  the  assumption  of  dogmatic  authority,  is  in 


6  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

process  of  rapid  dissolution  in  Protestant  circles.  Not 
only  that;  within  these  circles  a  demand  has  arisen,  in 
the  name  of  religion  itself,  that  the  nature  and  the 
mechanism  of  the  spiritual  life  be  laid  bare.  This 
demand  grows  alike  from  desire  for  the  firmest  control 
of  religious  processes — as  in  religious  education — and 
from  a  conviction  that  for  us  religion  must  be,  among 
other  things,  an  original  grasp  upon  life  rather  than 
adhesion  to  tradition.  We  wish  to  make  our  religious 
consciousness  clear  as  to  its  own  meaning.1 

The  attempt  to  construe  religion  psychologically  is 
most  nearly  related  to  general  psychology,  though  its 
bearing  upon  theology,  philosophy,  and  religious  work 
is  obviously  direct.  (^  Indeed,  the  psychology  of  religion 
is  properly  nothing  but  an  expanded  chapter  of  general 
psychology.}  As  we  proceed,  evidence  will  accumulate 
that  we  are  dealing  with  something  not  separate  in  its 
elements  from  the  most  commonplace  facts  of  mental 
life.  The  reasons  for  a  separate  treatment  are  reasons 
of  convenience  and  of  accommodation  to  existing  con- 
ditions. For  example:  (a)  The  problems  are  so  funda- 

1  Among  practical  workers  in  religion  there  is  a  serious  misconcep- 
tion, however,  of  the  whole  method  and  significance  of  the  psychology 
of  religion.  Clergymen,  in  sermons  and  in  books,  are  giving  the  name 
psychology  to  strange  mixtures  of  dogma  and  hearsay  science.  One 
writer  offers  us  "a  Christian  psychology  of  the  Christian  life,"  which 
"admits  sources  of  material  as  valid  which  general  psychological  science 
rigidly  excludes."  Another  deduces  practically  a  whole  system  of 
Christian  doctrine — the  traditional  system — from  a  supposedly  psycho- 
logical analysis  of  Christian  experience.  Not  a  few  fancy  that  they 
can  draw  directly  from  psychology  new  proofs  of  the  existence  of 
God,  or  of  inspiration.  It  is  significant  that  most  writers  of  these 
types  appear  to  be  more  at  home  in  the  obscurities  of  the  subcon- 
scious than  among  the  more  clearly  established  facts  and  laws  of 
the  mind. 


RELIGION  AS  A  PSYCHOLOGICAL  STUDY  7 

mental  and  the  facts  so  complicated  that  an  extensive 
treatment  of  them  is  inevitable,  (b)  Religious  sensi- 
tivity, or  prejudice,  among  students,  and  in  religious 
circles  generally,  tends  to  deter  psychologists  from  all 
discussion  of  religion.  It  is  probably  better  to  handle 
these  difficulties  in  a  group  than  to  spread  them  out 
through  general  psychology,  (c)  Religion,  though  it  is 
a  commonplace  fact,  has  nevertheless  become,  so  to  say, 
self-conscious.  There  is  a  partial  parallel  here  with 
conditions  in  art  and  in  education;  in  each  of  these  three 
cases  large  masses  of  experience  have  organized  them- 
selves around  a  particular  interest,  or  a  particular  insti- 
tution, and  as  a  consequence  economy  of  attention  is 
secured  by  a  separate  psychological  treatment. 

But  can  psychology  penetrate  to  the  heart  of  religion  ? 
Must  it  not  forever  be  as  much  of  an  outsider  as  a  man 
born  deaf  who  should  witness  a  symphony  concert  with 
his  eyes  only  ?  How  can  one  understand  religion  with- 
out feeling  it,  and  how  can  feelings  be  put  into  words  ? 
And  are  not  the  supreme  and  most  original  religious 
experiences  sui  generis,  extra-natural,  incapable  of 
analysis  by  means  of  ordinary  methods  or  concepts? 
Let  us  answer  these  questions  seriatim. 

i.  One  possessed  of  sight  but  not  hearing  could 
find  out  many  important  things  about  symphony  con- 
certs, partly  by  direct  observation,  partly  by  reading 
what  others  write.  In  the  same  way  the  psychology  of 
religion  might  be  pursued  with  some  success  by  one 
who  does  not  " enjoy  religion."  Both  symphonies  and 
religious  phenomena  can  be  considered  from  the  stand- 
point of  processes  taking  place  in  time  and  space,  and 
having  parts  related  in  definite  ways  to  one  another 


8  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

and  to  other  things.    That  is,  there  is  a  mechanism  of 
religion  as  well  as  of  music. 

2.  Nevertheless,  it  is  true  that  to  understand  either 
music  or  religion  one  must  have  appreciation,  feeling, 
some  actual  entering  into  an  experience  as  distinguished 
from  merely  looking  on.  It  is  true  also  that  feelings 
cannot  be  put  into  words  in  the  sense  of  being  trans- 
ferred thereby  from  one  person  to  another.  But  neither 
can  anything  be,  in  this  sense,  put  into  words.  The 
word  "gold"  is  not  yellow;  the  word  " wealth"  makes 
no  one  rich.  There  is  nothing,  however,  to  prevent  per- 
sons who  have  similar  feelings  from  devising  a  termi- 
nology that  shall  awaken  specific  memories  connected 
with  these  feelings.  We  have,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  a 
great  vocabulary  of  appreciation  in  aesthetics,  ethics;  and 
religion.  To  understand  this  vocabulary  one  must 
undoubtedly  have  some  corresponding  experience  of 
appreciation ;  to  incorporate  such  a  vocabulary  into  the 
sciences  a  common  human  experience  is  prerequisite.  A 
psychology  of  aesthetics  is  possible  because  aesthetic 
experience,  at  least  in  its  rudiments,  is  common  to  men. 
A  psychology  of  the  moral  life  is  possible  because  moral 
experience  is  universal.  A  psychology  of  religion  in  the 
same  intimate  sense  is  possible  also,  provided  that  reli- 
gious appreciations  of  at  least  a  rudimentary  sort  are 
likewise  common.  Whether  this  is  the  fact  must  be 
decided  ultimately  by  the  progress  of  our  study,  but 
the  diffusion  of  religion  in  both  space  and  time  justi- 
fies a  preliminary  affirmative  hypothesis  on  this  point. 
Even  if,  however,  religion  be  not  thus  a  common  experi- 
ence, a  psychology  of  religion  in  the  sense  referred  to 
under  i  above  would  still  be  practicable. 


RELIGION  AS  A  PSYCHOLOGICAL  STUDY  9 

3.  Are  not  some  religious  experiences  in  their  very 
nature  outside  the  scope  of  psychology  ?  So  all  Catho- 
lics and  many  Protestants  hold.  What  Catholic  writers 
call  "mystical  theology"  devises  careful  tests  for  dis- 
tinguishing the  operation  of  divine  or  demonic  beings 
within  us  from  the  natural  ongoings  of  the  mind.1 
Benedict  XIV,  pope  from  1740  to  1758,  laid  down  rules,2 
which  are  followed  today  in  the  canonization  of  saints, 
whereby  the  church  can  become  officially,  certain  as  to 
what  is  pathological  and  what  divine  in  the  extraordinary 
visitations  experienced  by  saints  and  miracle-workers. 
A  presupposition  of  all  these  tests,  however,  is  a 
theory  of  the  supernatural — a  theory  authoritatively 
imposed.  The  conclusion  reached  in  any  given  case 
is  not  a  statement  of  probabilities  based  upon  observa- 
tion, but  rather  a  mixture  of  observation  and  a  priori 
assumption. 

Protestants  who  hold  to  a  psychical  supernatural 
commonly  mix  with  the  assumption  of  authority  two 
other  things — a  theory  of  intuition  as  a  source  of  knowl- 
edge in  matters  of  fact — that  is,  in  matters  susceptible 
of  regulated  observation — and  a  habit  of  assuming  that 
what  is  extraordinarily  valuable  or  satisfying  has  laws 
of  its  own,  different  from  those  of  nature  at  large. 
Scientific  method  is  of  course  antithetical  to  all  of  these 
positions.  What  is  more  significant  for  our  present 
purpose  is  that  no  observed  separation  between  religious 

1  J.  Gorres,  Die  christliche  Myslik  (Regensburg,  1836-42),  devotes 
three  of  his  five  volumes  to  possession  and  "demonic  mysticism." 
How  "mystical  theology"  undertakes  to  maintain  itself  in  the  presence 
of  scientific  psychology  can  be  seen  in  A.  B.  Sharpe,  Mysticism:    Its 
True  Nature  and  Value  (London:   Sands  &  Co.). 

2  De  serwrum  Dei  beatificatione  et  canonisatione. 


io  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

and  other  mental  processes  has  been  pointed  out;1  the 
alleged  separateness  depends  in  every  case  upon  an 
antecedent  supernaturalistic  assumption.  Further, 
psychology  has  already  succeeded  in  analyzing  many  of 
the  supposedly  exceptional  religious  experiences;  they 
are  riot  a  scientific  terra  incognita  at  all. 

What  sorts  of  question,  then,  does  psychology  ask 
with  regard  to  religion  ?  An  examination  of  publications 
in  this  field  will  show  that  two  main  types  of  problem 
are  recognized. 

First,  religious  experience  is  ordinarily  a  highly 
involved  psychical  complex  which  needs  to  be  viewed 
in  its  elements.  Conversion,  which  is  the  central  topic 
of  Starbuck's  pioneer  work,  is  such  a  complex.  Mys- 
ticism, to  Which  Leuba  and  Delacroix  have  given  so 
much  attention,  offers  a  larger  problem  of  the  same  kind. 
Stratton,  noting  that  a  remarkable  crisscross  of  motives 
and  beliefs  appears  everywhere  in  the  sacred  books  of 
the  world,  has  taken  as  his  task  the  explanation  of  this 
seemingly  self -contradictory  complexity.  Search  for 
the  elements  of  a  complex  appears  again  in  studies  x>f 
the  genesis  and  growth  of  religion  in  the  individual  and 
in  the  race,  as  in  those  of  King,  Pratt,  Durkheim,  and 
Wundt. 

Secondly,  religion  has  a  peculiar  relation  to  the 
valuational  phase  of  experience.  In  pre-eminent  degree 
religion,  even  more  than  philosophy,  is  a  wrestling  with 
destiny.  It  will  wring  a  consciously  adequate  life  out 
of  the  hard  conditions  of  existence.  With  this  value 
aspect  of  religious  experience  in  mind  we  unearth  new 

1  This  will  appear  more  and  more  clearly  as  our  analysis  of  religious 
experiences  proceeds. 


RELIGION  AS  A  PSYCHOLOGICAL  STUDY         n 

facts,  and  we  face  a  new  aspect  of  all  the  facts.  What 
is  it,  Professor  James  asks,  that  the  devotee  fixes  his 
heart  upon,  and  what  are  the  results  of  his  spiritual 
exercises — results  in  the  current  everyday  terms  ^of 
value?  Hoffding  judges  that  the  fundamental  axiom 
of  religion  is  "the  conservation  of  values."1  King  and 
Ames  are  chiefly  interested  in  discovering  the  functions 
that  religion  represents  in  the  life  of  man  as  a  whole,; 
and  how  these  functions  originate  and  grow.  Concerning 
any  religious  phenomenon — say  a  sacrifice,  a  dance,  or 
solitary  mystic  contemplation — we  must  ask,  not  merely 
what  sort  of  god  or  what  theory  of  the  universe  is  here 
involved,  and  not  merely  what  sensations,  emotions, 
and  so  on  make  up  the  complex,  but  also  what  the 
devotee  is  after,  whether  he  gets  what  he  is' after,  a*nd 
how  this  particular  good  is  related  to  other  goods  in 
the  total  self-realizing  life  of  man.  (This  phase  of  reli- 
gious life  is  objectively  present  not  less  truly  than  the 
parts  into  which  we  resolve  mental  complexes.j 

The  distinction  between  these  two  types  of  investi- 
gation involves  problems  that  will  occupy  much  space 
in  succeeding  chapters.  At  this  point,  however,  it  will 
be  well  to  understand  clearly  that  resolving  a  mental 
complex  into  its  elements  does  not  answer  all  the  legiti- 
mate questions  concerning  the  nature  of  an  experience. 
Let  us  imagine  ourselves  called  upon,  for  example,  to 
give  a  complete  psychological  account  of  a  mother 
fondling  her  baby.  We  see  right  away  that  we  have 
before  us  a  complex,  the  mothering  process,  which  must 
be  analyzed  into  its  part  processes.  Here  are  touch 
and  sight  sensations,  ideational  activities,  emotions,  and 

1  H.  Hoffding,  Philosophy  of  Religion  (London,  1906),  p.  10. 


12  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

instincts,  all  connected  with  corresponding  neural  pro- 
cesses in  nerve  endings,  transmission  tracts,  and  brain 
centers.  Thus  we  resolve  the  complex.  Each  part  of 
the  machinery  is  discriminated  from  other  parts,  and  we 
behold  all  working  together.  This  is  the  mothering 
complex.  But  something  remains  still;  it  is  mother-love, 
of  which  thus  far  we  have  said  not  a  word.  In  our 
analysis  of  the  mothering  complex  the  baby  is  simply  a 
stimulus  of  touch  and  sight,  an  excitant  of  nerve  endings, 
a  part  of  a  mechanism.  But  within  mother  love,  that  is, 
within  the  actuality  of  the  experience,  what  is  a  baby  ? 
What  is  the  baby,  that  is  to  say,  to  the  mother,  and 
what  is  the  mother  to  herself,  now  that  a  child  of  her 
very  own  has  come  ? 

Heaven's  first  darling,  twin-born  with  the  morning  light,  you 
have  floated  down  the  stream  of  the  world's  life,  and  at  last  you 
have  stranded  on  my  heart. 

As  I  gaze  on  your  face,  mystery  overwhelms  me;  you  who 
belong  to  all  have  become  mine. 

For  fear  of  losing  you  I  hold  you  tight  to  my  breast.  What 
magic  has  snared  the  world's  treasure  hi  these  slender  arms 
of  mine  ?x 

We  must,  indeed,  analyze  mind  process  just  as  we  do 
the  movements  of  the  planets,  treating  the  mind  as  a 
mechanism;  and  neither  human  affection  nor  religion 
has  any  claim  to  exemption  from  this  taking  to  pieces. 
But  these  personal  realizations  demand  that  they  be 
understood  also.  There  is  something  in  poetry  that  is 
not  metrics,  something  in  music  that  is  not  vibrations, 
something  in  our  social  and  ethical  experience  that  is 
not  a  complex  of  states  of  consciousness.  Never  shall 

1  Tagore,  "The  Beginning,"  from  The  Crescent  Moon. 


RELIGION  AS  A  PSYCHOLOGICAL  STUDY         13 

we  understand  tins^^oinetlimg  by  merely  reanalyzing 
the  mechanism.  As  well  might  we  explain  a  line  of 
poetry  by  merely  marking  the  quantity  of  its  syllables. 
We  must  go  forward  to  a  psychology  of  values,  functions, 
self-realizations.) 

A  certain  distrust  of  psychology  that  now  and  then 
appears  among  religionists  is  not  altogether  groundless. 
For  there  is  " something  more"  to  conversion  and  other 
religious  experiences  than  the  sum  of  the  part  processes 
that  have  mostly  occupied  the  attention  of  psychologists. 
Ordinarily,  however,  religious  critics  of  the  psychology 
of  religion  fall  into  a  scientific  pitfall.  They  assume 
that  the  "something  more"  is  just  another  part  process 
co-ordinate  with  those  already  recognized  by  psychology, 
whereas  the  missing  thing  is  not  another  wheel  in  a 
machine,  or  another  event  in  a  series,  but  the  individual 
wholeness  of  self-realization.  Wiser  than  these  objectors 
are  those  who  say,  "  Whatever  the  process  or  mechanism 
of  conversion  or  of  prayer,  the  man  changes  for  the 
better,  he  has  more  real  life  than  he  had  before."1 

1 1  purposely  refrain  from  giving  a  formal  definition  of  religion  at 
the  outset  of  this  study,  partly  because  definitions  convey  so  little 
information  as  to  facts;  partly  because  the  history  of  definitions  of 
religion  makes  it  almost  certain  that  any  fresh  attempt  at  definition 
would  unnecessarily  complicate  these  introductory  chapters;  partly 
because,  in  this  subject  at  least,  a  definition,  if  it  is  to  have  vitality, 
must  be  an  achievement — it  cannot  be  "given"  by  one  to  another. 
The  observant  reader  will  notice,  however,  that  my  whole  discussion  of 
method  and  point  of  view  in  the  psychology  of  religion  (chaps,  i  and  ii) 
gradually  unfolds  a  definite  conception  of  the  nature  of  religious 
experience. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  MENTAL  MECHANISMS  AND 
THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  PERSONS 

The  methods  and  the  points  of  view  of  each  science 
have  to  be  worked  out  within  the  science  itself;  they 
may  not  be  prescribed  in  advance.  Whoever  thinks  of 
scientific  method  as  a  ready-made  sieve  that  needs  only 
to  be  shaken  vigorously  in  order  to  separate  the  factors 
in  any  and  every  kind  of  experience  that  may  be  poured 
into  it  misconstrues  the  whole  history  of  scientific 
research.  To  be  thoroughly  empirical  implies  that  we 
look  ever  for  that  which  cannot  be  expressed  in  the  old 
categories.1  The  history  of  each  science  reveals  not  only 
an  increasing  body  of  recorded  facts,  but  also  growth  in 
the  fundamental  conceptions  that  define  the  science  and 
its  methods.  It  is  not  to  the  disparagement  but  to  the 
credit  of  psychology  to  say  that  in  its  short  history  it 
has  brought  forth,  alongside  of  innumerable  researches 
in  limited  areas,  a  set  of  remarkable  problems  concerning 
itself.  What  is  "the  psychical"  which  psychology  will 
investigate?  What  are  the  objective  marks  of  the 
presence  or  absence  of  the  psychical  ?  Can  it  be  meas- 

1  Psychology  is  the  greatest  sufferer,  but  not  the  only  one,  from  the 
tendency  to  erect  a  point  of  view  or  a  method  into  a  dogma.  Consider 
the  following  not  uncommon  assumptions:  (i)  that  one  who  masters 
the  methods  in  a  particular  branch  of  scientific  investigation  becomes 
thereby  a  scientific  man;  (2)  that  the  irreducible  ultimates  in  physics 
must  suffice  for  the  analysis  of  living  beings;  (3)  that  the  really  funda- 
mental factors  in  mind  are  those  which  biology  takes  account  of;  and 
in  general  (4)  that  the  different  is  not  really  different! 

14 


PSYCHOLOGY  OF  MENTAL  MECHANISMS         15 

ured?  How  is  it  related  to  the  physical?  What  part 
does  the  psychical  play  in  vital  processes  ? 

All  these  questions  are  in  debate  today.  Some  of 
them  have  the  utmost  interest  for  the  psychology  of 
religion  because  they  involve,  in  a  fundamental  way, 
the  contrast  that  was  reached  in  the  last  chapter  between 
mental  mechanism  and  personal  self-realization.  This 
distinction  emerges  when  we  attempt  to  answer  the 
question,  What  is  the  psychical?  The  commonest 
answer  is  that  by  the  psychical  (for  which  consciousness 
is  the  more  usual  term)  we  mean  such  facts  as  sensations, 
feelings,  and  impulses  to  action,  and  that  these  are  known 
primarily  by  introspection.  Psychology  accordingly  has 
commonly  understood  itself  to  be  the  science  of  "states 
of  consciousness  as  such,"  that  is,  without  regard  to 
their  relation  to  any  metaphysical  soul  or  ego.  This 
point  of  view  has  justified  itself  by  the  fruit  it  has  borne, 
which  is  nothing  less  than  the  winning  of  a  place  for 
psychology  among  the  empirical  sciences.  To  the  objec- 
tion that  there  can  be  no  "  psychology  without  a  soul," 
the  effective  reply  has  been  successful  psychologizing 
without  saying  anything  about  the  soul!  It  is  not  at 
all  surprising  that  students,  and  even  professional 
psychologists,  come  to  think  of  mental  life  as  com- 
pounded of  simple  elements,  after  the  analogy  of  chem- 
istry, or  as  a  mechanism  of  which  sensations,  feelings, 
and  the  like  are  the  ultimate  units. 

Is  this,  however,  "the"  psychological  point  of  view 
or  "a"  psychological  point  of  view?  A  convenient 
pathway  toward  an  answer  is  to  examine  an  instance  of 
the  assumed  psychological  elements  or  facts,  say  a 
sensation.  It  must  be  so  amenable  to  observation  that 


v/ 


1 6  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

you  and  I  can  talk  about  it  as  a  particular  object  ascer- 
tainably  present.  It  is  easy  to  discuss  sensations  of 
touch,  taste,  and  so  on  in  general,  just  as  we  used  to 
talk  about  atoms;  but  what  is  required  is  that  we  point 
out  and  identify  k  particular  sensation  as  actually  occur- 
ring. Paradoxical  as  it  seems  at  first,  we  may  have  to 
conclude  that  sensations  as  well  as  atoms  are  not  facts 
of  experience  but  constructs  from  experience.  For,  first, 
when  you  offer  me  an  objectively  observed  case,  it  turns 
out  to  be  your  sensation.  Now,  your  sensation  is  a  fact 
for  me,  not  by  virtue  of  my  own  direct  observation,  but 
by  virtue  of  a  process  of  construction  from  other  data. 
Moreover,  in  what  sense  can  you  say  that  even  you 
observe  this  sensation  ?  Not  to  mention  other  difficulties 
of  introspection,  see  what  happens  when  you  attempt  to 
count  your  sensations  for  a  few  seconds.  You  discover 
that  either  you  are  counting  objects  rather  than  sensa- 
tions, or  else  putting  arbitrary  bounds  to  each  sensation. 
No  atoms  of  mental  life  appear  to  you  at  all,  but  rather 
a  continuous  flow  which  has  various  aspects,  of  which 
the  sensational  is  one.  Your  sensations  are  constructs 
for  you  as  they  are  also  for  me.  We  can  now  understand, 
in  part,  why  Professor  James,  at  the  conclusion  of  his 
brilliant  analysis  of  h states  of  consciousness  as  such'1 
declares  that,  after  all,  "states  of  consciousness  them- 
selves are  not  verifiable  facts."1 

When  we  reach  this  insight,  three  courses  are  open 
to  us:  First,  we  may  go  on  as  before  analyzing  states  of 
consciousness  as  such,  but  we  must  then  recognize  that 
the  material  in  which  we  work  (sensations,  feelings,  etc.) 
is  not  mental  life  in  its  concreteness,  but  rather  certain 

1  Psychology  (Briefer  Course),  p.  467. 


PSYCHOLOGY  OF  MENTAL  MECHANISMS         17 

abstracted  aspects  of  this  life.  It  is  by  this  abstracting, 
aided  by  analogies  derived  from  the  structure  of  the 
brain  and  nervous  system,  that  psychology  has  drawn 
its  pictures  of  complicated  mental  mechanisms — the 
mechanism  of  sense-perception,  of  memory,  of  emotion, 
and  so  on. 

In  spite  of  the  abstractness  of  such  psychology,  and 
in  spite  of  the  objection  that  will  be  noted  in  the  next 
paragraph,  there  is  no  likelihood  that  we  shall  ever  dis- 
pense with  this  method  of  approach  to  mental  life. 
These  aspects  of  our  experience  are  actual  aspects,  and 
these  mechanisms,  though  they  are  the  psychologist's 
mental  constructs  out  of  elements  that  are  themselves 
constructs,  have  uses  both  theoretical  and  practical  that 
correspond  to  the  parallel  constructs  of  physics  and 
chemistry.  If,  however,  anyone  speaking  in  the  name 
of  psychology  should  suggest  that  mental  mechanism  is 
all  there  is  to  mental  life,  he  would  be  convincing  only 
to  those  whose  analysis  stops  short  of  the  primary 
empirical  data. 

The  status  of  "  states  of  consciousness "  is  in  fact 
openly  challenged  in  the  name  of  psychology  itself.  The 
behaviorist  movement,  which  represents  the  second  of 
the  three  possible  courses,  says  substantially  this:  Let 
us  observe  and  experiment  upon  the  movements  of 
our  own  bodies  and  of  animal  bodies,  making  the 
least  possible  reference  to  accompanying  consciousness. 
By  noting  outer  acts  we  shall  arrive  at  the  most  secure 
generalizations  concerning  the  very  life  that  tradi- 
tional psychology  has  attempted  to  construe  by  treat- 
ing it  as  a  subjective  phenomenon.  Behaviorism  in 
its  extreme  form  declares  that  the  assumption  of 


i8  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

consciousness  has  never  helped  in  the  solution  of  any 
problem.1 

Undoubtedly  this  movement  arises  out  of  a  real  need, 
and  its  influence  upon  psychology  is  almost  certain  to 
be  wholesome.  It  is  well  that  we  are  thus  challenged 
to  exhibit  the  actual  data  with  which  psychology  works, 
and  to  see  how  much  can  be  learned  from  bodily  move- 
ments and  physiological  changes  as  such.  But,  while 
behaviorism  is  likely  to  be  a  permanent  point  of  view, 
particularly  in  the  study  of  animals,  it  is  not  likely  to 
crowd  consciousness  out  of  psychology.  How  far — to 
take  a  prominent  problem  of  behaviorism — can  analysis 
of  the  learning  process  go  without  taking  account  of 
satisfactions  and  annoyances?2  And,  in  general,  has 
not  some  behavior  meaning  ?  From  one  point  of  view 
conversation,  for  example,  is  just  behavior,  that  is,  a 
set  of  co-ordinated  movements  of  lips,  tongue,  vocal 
cords,  diaphragm  and  intercostal  muscles,  facial  muscles, 
eyes,  hands,  etc.  Analysis  of  these  movements  will  very 
likely  help  us  to  understand  what  happens  when  two 
men  converse.  But  to  ignore  everything  in  conversation 
except  such  movements  is  to  leave  out  the  function  of 
it,  which  is  the  interchange  of  meanings  between  persons, 
For  his  purposes  the  behaviorist  may  avoid  discussing 
this  function,  but  he  should  at  least  realize  that  thereby 
he  chooses  one  among  several  points  of  view.  Behaviorism, 
in  short,  represents  simply  a  new  division  of  labor  within 
the  field  of  psychology. 

1  J.  B.  Watson,  "Psychology  as  the  Behaviorist  Views  It,"  Psycho- 
logical Review,  XX  (1913),  158-77. 

aE.  L.  Thorndike,  one  of  the  leading  behaviorists,  though  he 
consistently  endeavors  to  express  our  reactions  as  far  as  possible  in 
terms  of  muscular  and  neural  activity,  makes  much  of  "  satisfyingness  " 
as  a  factor  in  the  formation  of  new  connections. 


PSYCHOLOGY  OF  MENTAL  MECHANISMS         19 

Both  of  these  types  of  psychological  interest,  then — 
the  " states  of  consciousness"  type  and  the  behaviorist 
type — necessitate  a  third  type.  The  concrete  experience 
out  of  which  we  abstract  " states  of  consciousness"  is 
the  experience  of  being  a  personal  self.  Each  sensation, 
feeling,  or  other  "  element ""  of  structural  psychology  is 
simply  a  particular  discriminable  aspect  of  a  self -realizing 
life.  Sensations  and  feelings  are  not  known  to  have  any 
other  kind  of  existence,  and  what  other  kind  of  existence 
they  could  conceivably  have  has  never  been  explained.1 
Now,  since  self-realizations  are  not  less  actual  than  sen- 
sations, but  more  so,  and  since  much  of  our  behavior 
is  communication  of  self-realized  meanings,  we  must 
have  an  empirical  science  of  self-realizations,  or,  in 
short,  of  selves.  This  is  psychology  par  excellence, 
because  its  data  are  the  most  concrete  and  the  most 
distinctive.2 

Several  recent  developments  show  how  inevitable 
it  is  that  sooner  or  later  we  should  advance  from  a 


1  When  we  desire  to  represent  the  consciousness  of  lower  animals, 
we  invariably  image  to  ourselves  some  fragment  of  our  own  self-realizing 
life.    We  are  helped  by  our  memories  of  dreams,  and  of  the  vague  states 
between  waking  and  sleeping.    Our  own  memory  gaps  also  help  us  to 
conceive  lower  degrees  of  organization  than  our  own.     Further,  the 
instinctive  and  other  automatic  factors  in  our  own  life  make  it  clear 
that  adaptive  response  could  be  abundant  even  if   there  were   little 
consciousness  in  the  animal  making  the  response.    We  have  no  experi- 
ence, however,  that  enables  us  to  construe  mere  atoms  of  a  consciousness 
that  is  not  in  any  degree  an  organized,  self -realizing  consciousness. 
Behaviorism  avoids  the  difficulty  here  involved  by  thinking  of  animals 
as  if  they  had  no  sensations,  or  pleasures  and  pains. 

2  Since  1900   Professor  Calkins  has   contended  that  since  states 
of  consciousness  are  "  facts-for-selves,"  psychology  must  be  a  science  of 
selves  as  well  as  of  states.    See  her  article,  "Psychology  as  Science  of 
Selves,"  Philosophical  Review,  IX  (1900),  490-501.     How  such  psy- 
chology differs  from  the  old  "psychology  with  a  [metaphysical]  soul" 
will  appear  as  we  proceed. 


20  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

psychology  of   states   to   a  psychology  of  individual 
persons  or  selves. 

1.  Various  branches  of  the  science  are  obliged  to 
take   as   their   unit   the   self -realizing   individual   life. 
Abnormal  psychology,  for  example,  would  be  practically 
meaningless  if  it  contemplated  states  of  consciousness 
as  such  instead  of  individuals  who  vary  from  an  assumed 
norm  of  self-realization.     Similarly,  child  psychology  is 
required  to  get  the  child's  point  of  view,  that  is,  to  view 
experience  from  the  standpoint  of  child  selves.     Folk 
psychology  is  in  a  parallel  situation.    Social  psychology, 
too,   turns  attention  to   the  self-realized  relations  of 
individual  to  individual. 

2.  Many  influences — philosophical,  theological,  psy- 
chological— are  focusing  attention  upon  values  as  an 
aspect  of  experience.    A  " value"  is  anything  experienced 
or  thought  of  as  satisfying,  or  the  contrary.    Here  we  are 
in  the  sphere  of  interests,  preference,  individual  attitude, 
self-realization. 

3.  The  attempt  to  relate  psychology  to  biology  has 
caused  us  to  think  of  mental  process  as  a  part  of  active 
adjustment   to   the   conditions   of   life.     Here   mental 
process  comes  to  be  thought  of  as  mental  function,  which 
is  mental  action  directed  toward  advantage,  the  further- 
ance of  life — in  particular,  life  that  realizes  its  own 
improved  state. 

The  standpoint  of  " function"  emerges,  in  fact,  in 
each  of  these  fresh  psychological  growths.  Here  a 
functional  psychology,  or  a  psychology  that  recognizes 
the  functional  standpoint,  is  being  created.  Here  belong 
the  problems  of  the  second  type  that  appeared  in  our 
first  chapter.  Religious  experiences  have  a  mechanism, 


PSYCHOLOGY  OF  MENTAL  MECHANISMS         21 

to  be  sure,  but  they  are  occupied  about  ends  or  values — 
what  Tagore  calls  "the  realization  of  life."1  This  is 
increasingly  the  case  as  we  move  upward  in  the  scale 
of  religions.  /At  the  summit  of  culture  the  character 
of  each  religion  consists  in  its  working  conception  of 
life's  values,  and  the  religious  status  of  the  individual 
is  judged  by  his  scrutiny,  choice,  and  pursuit  of  ends^| 
Accordingly,  the  psychology  of  religion  may  be  expected 
to  be  predominantly  functional.  Therefore  the  idea  of 
mental  function  needs  to  be  carefully  examined  at  the 
outset.  We  shall  see  that  it  is  far  less  simple  than  one 
might  suppose.2 

What  do  we  mean  by  "function"  ?  As  we  use  the 
term  here  it  applies  to  living  beings  only.  It  signifies 
the  part  that  any  organ  or  process  has  in  maintaining, 
reproducing,  or  improving  the  life  of  an  individual  or  of 
the  group  to  which  an  individual  belongs.  The  function 
of  teeth,  for  example,  is  to  tear,  cut,  crush,  and  grind 
food,  so  that  the  digestive  juices  may  reach  all  parts  of  it, 
so  that  it  may  be  assimilated  and  built  into  living  cells,  so 
that  the  individual  or  group  life  may  go  on  in  strength. 

1  Rabindranath  Tagore,  Sadhana:  The  Realization  of  Life  (New 
York,  1913). 

a  The  chief  critical  discussion  of  the  relation  of  functional  to  struc- 
tural psychology  is  J.  R.  Angell's  "The  Relations  of  Structural  and 
Functional  Psychology  to  Philosophy,"  one  of  the  Decennial  Publications 
of  the  University  of  Chicago,  1903,  printed  also  in  Philosophical  Review >, 
XII  (1903),  243-71.  The  article  has  abundant  footnote  references. 
See  also  G.  H.  Mead,  "The  Definition  of  the  Psychical,"  Decennial 
Publications  of  the  University  of  Chicago,  1903.  The  first  work  on  general 
psychology  to  be  written  systematically  from  the  functional  point  of 
view  was,  I  believe,  J.  R.  Angell's  Psychology,  the  first  edition  of  which 
appeared  in  1904.  The  clearest,  most  systematic  discussion  of  the 
functional  standpoint  in  the  psychology  of  religion  is  chap,  ii  of  E.  S. 
Ames,  The  Psychology  of  Religious  Experience  (Boston,  1910). 


22  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

Function  implies  that  an  organ  or  process  is  for  some- 
thing— the  point  of  view  is  teleological. 

But  a  functional  or  teleological  point  of  view  may 
mean  any  one  of  three  discriminable  things: 

First,  functions  may  be  methodological  devices.  The 
categories  "means"  and  "end"  do  not  in  this  case"  imply 
that  the  object  under  investigation  employs  means  for 
the  sake  of  attaining  ends,  but  only  that  this  is  a  con- 
venient method  whereby  the  investigator  may  organize 
a  multitude  of  facts  into  unity.  Here  function  is  approxi- 
mately the  relation  of  part  to  whole,  the  relation  ex- 
pressed by  the  word  "for"  being  kept  in  the  background. 
This  is  substantially  the  standpoint  of  biology.  Biologi- 
cal descriptions,  it  is  true,  attribute  ends  to  living  beings. 
Thus,  there  is  a  "struggle  for"  existence.  Animals 
"seek"  food,  and  they  "seek"  their  mates.  Certain 
organs  reach  out  "for"  food,  others  protect  "against" 
enemies.  Concerning  the  human  appendix  vermiformis 
we  ask  what  it  is,  or  ever  was,  "good  for."  Probably 
this  objective  reference  of  "means  and  end"  is  unavoid- 
able. Nevertheless,  for  very  good  reasons  biology  gen- 
erally refuses  to  develop  the  notion,  and  even  labors  to 
restrict  the  teleological  reference  as  much  as  possible.1 

Secondly,  psychology,  however,  has  to  recognize  ends 
as  objective  facts.  For  mind  as  we  know  it  best  may  be 
described  as  preferring  something  as  distinguished  from 
something  else,  seeking  the  preferred  thing,  and  experi- 
encing success  or  failure.  Otherwise  expressed,  the  pro- 
cesses with  which  the  psychologist  has  to  do  tend  to  define 
their  own  functions  or  ends,  as  merely  biological  processes 

xThe  present  debate  over  vitalism  illustrates  the  fact  that  the 
biological  point  of  view  is  a  point  of  view. 


PSYCHOLOGY  OF  MENTAL  MECHANISMS         23 

do  not.  Functions  are  no  longer  merely  devices  of  the 
investigator's  mind;  they  are  objective  data  for  in- 
vestigation. 

~  Thirdly,  it  is  possible  to  suppose  that  all  nature  is 
guided  toward  some  single  good  or  system  of  goods.  In 
this  case  one  and  the  same  mental  process  might  be 
functional  in  three  senses:  (a)  its  biological  function 
might  be,  say,  prolongation  of  life,  the  " value  of  life'' 
being  here  merely  a  methodological  device  of  the 
biologist;  (b)  its  psychological  function  also  might  be 
prolongation  of  life,  but  here  the  " value  of  life''  is 
objectively  realized,  and  what  constitutes  "a  valuable 
life"  is  judged  by  the  living  being  himself;  (c)  its  cosmic 
function  likewise  might  be  prolongation  of  life,  but  here 
the  individual  life  has  super-individual  significance, 
possibly  significance  that  it  is  unaware  of.  Emerson 
says  that  Michelangelo,  when  he  designed  St.  Peter's 
at  Rome,  "builded  better  than  he  knew": 

These  temples  grew  as  grows  the  grass; 

Art  might  obey,  but  not  surpass. 

The  passive  Master  lent  his  hand 

To  the  vast  soul  that  o'er  him  planned; 

And  the  same  power  that  reared  the  shrine 

Bestrode  the  tribes  that  knelt  within.1 

Teleology  or  function  in  this  third  sense  is  traditionally 
an  object  for  theological  or  philosophical  rather  than 
scientific  investigation. 

Let  us  now  come  a  little  closer  to  the  notion  of  a 
functional  psychology.  We  have  seen  that  a  function 
is  to  be  defined  by  reference  to  the  advantage  or  value 
toward  which  the  process  in  question  moves,  and  that 

1  The  Problem. 


24  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

mental  process  defines  its  own  ends.  It  follows  that 
psychology  does  not  discover  for  us  the  functions  of 
mind,  but  rather  records  the  steps  in  mind's  self- 
discovery  of  its  own  functions.  It  follows,  further,  that 
some  of  our  surest  knowledge  of  mental  functions  is 
had  by  telling  one  another  about  our  desires  and  our 
satisfactions. 

The  bluntness  of  these  statements  will  be  justified  if 
it  leads  us  to  face  the  implications  and  the  difficulties 
of  the  functional  standpoint.  A  first  difficulty  may  be 
stated  as  follows:  How  is  the  notion  of  function  to  be 
applied  to  processes  of  too  low  an  order  to  define  their 
own  aims — the  instincts,  for  example  ?  Here  psychology 
is  tempted,  not  only  to  use  biological  conceptions,  but 
to  rest  in  them.  Human  life  is  then  thought  of  in  terms 
that  can  be  applied  indiscriminately  to  men  and  the 
lower  animals;  life  is  said  to  consist  fundamentally  in 
feeding  and  procreating. 

But  there  is  a  complementary  way  to  get  at  the 
functions  of  the  instincts.  For  the  instinctive  is  not  a 
stage  of  life  that  is  lived  through  and  left  behind;  it  is  a 
coefficient,  not  only  of  rudimentary  mind,  but  also  of 
the  highest  self-consciousness.  Here  fresh  values  appear 
that  could  not  have  been  guessed  before.  Take  as  an 
example  the  mothering  instinct  that  has  been  alluded  to. 
Starting  in  the  animal  series  as  an  unreflective  impulse, 
it  becomes  in  the  human  race  maternal  affection,  which 
helps  to  give  ethical  character  to  the  family,  and  finally 
deepens  and  expands  into  one  of  the  great  factors  in 
our  whole  ethical  life.1  Affection  between  the  sexes 
illustrates  the  same  principle.  Biology  views  it  as  simply 

1  Cf.  W.  McDougall,  Social  Psychology  (Boston,  1909),  pp.  66-81. 


PSYCHOLOGY  OF  MENTAL  MECHANISMS         25 

a  part  of  the  reproductive  process.  But  lovers  value 
each  other  as  persons.  The  idealizations  of  affection  are 
not  merely  subtle  glorifications  of  sexual  acts  or  of 
reproductive  results.  "In  thine  eyes,  my  darling,"  said 
a  dying  man  to  his  wife,  "have  I  beheld  the  Eternal." 
More  than  this :  affection  between  one  and  one  becomes 
an  important  factor  in  solidifying  the  monogamic  family 
and  the  whole  ethical  order  of  which  it  is  a  part.  Here 
instinct  is  taken  up  into  a  larger  scheme  of  things  than 
appeared  at  earlier  stages  of  life,  and  a  different  scheme. 
An  instinct  that  we  have  in  common  with  the  brutes 
attains  a  function  in  which  brutes  have  no  share.  Ac- 
cordingly, mental  evolution  is  no  mere  extension  of 
biological  functions,  but  also  the  emergence  of  fresh 
functions.1 

Another  difficulty  meets  us  when  we  try  to  think 
through  the  notion  of  mental  function  as  adjustment. 
Adjustment  0/what  to  what  ?  The  temptation,  as  before, 
is  to  oversimplify  by  taking  "adjustment"  in  the 
biological  sense  of  physical  organisms  securing  survival 
in  a  given  physical  environment.  Mind  then  appears 
as  a  favorable  variation  in  the  sense  of  a  new  means 
whereby  such  an  organism  survives  in  such  an  environ- 
ment. That  mind  does  promote  the  survival  of  some 
individuals  is  clear  enough;  but  is  this  an  adequate 
description  of  mental  function  as  adjustment?  Let  us 

1  The  claim  of  Dewey  that  a  thing  is  fully  explained  as  soon  as  its 
genesis  is  described  is  true  on  condition  that  "genesis"  is  made  suffi- 
ciently broad  to  cover  the  whole  evolution  of  function.  But  if  "genesis" 
refers  merely  to  the  earliest  functions,  and  if  genetic  explanation  con- 
sists in  classifying  the  later-developed  functions  under  the  earlier  ones, 
then  we  have  the  kind  of  oversimplification  that  reveals  similarities  but 
conceals  differences. 


26  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

consider  first  the  notion  of  environment  from  the  stand- 
point of  the  mind  itself. 

Does  mental  adjustment  consist  in  accommodating 
ourselves  to  an  environment  already  given?  Limiting 
attention  for  a  moment  to  physical  nature,  we  may  say 
unhesitatingly  that  the  business  of  mind  is  far  less 
4  adjustment  of  ourselves  to  environment  than  adjust- 
f  ment  of  environment  to  ourselves.1  Consider  how  mind 
is  already  bound  up  in  what  we  call  the  external  world. 
How  rarely  are  we  alone  with  non-human  nature!  We 
fly  from  the  city  to  the  country  in  order  to  be  with 
nature,  but  our  eyes  meet  fields  and  fences,  roads  and 
houses.  We  seek  the  forest,  but  we  follow  a  trail  made 
by  man;  and  if  perchance  we  visit  an  untrod  wilderness, 
still  we  reach  it,  and  penetrate  it,  and  care  for  ourselves 
in  it,  by  means  of  instruments  that  are  the  work  of  men's 
hands  and  minds.  Wilderness  experiences,  besides, 
are  rare.  Nearly  all  our  so-called  physical  environ- 
ment is  made  up  of  such  things  as  houses  and  high- 
ways, shops  and  factories,  tools,  coins,  books,  polluted 
rivers,  smoke — in  all  of  which  man  meets  man,  not 
merely  things.  This  is,  indeed,  the  chief  aspect  of 
our  encounter  with  the  physical.  A  house  is  what  men 
live  in,  a  knife  is  what  men  cut  with — incarnate  pur- 
poses. And  such,  for  the  most  part,  things  remain. 
Only  by  abstract  afterthought  do  they  become  merely 
physical. 

1  It  is  one  of  the  paradoxes  of  our  departmentalized  science  that  at 
the  very  moment  when  biology  came  to  look  upon  mind  as  a  favorable 
variation,  the  ability  of  mind  to  modify  nature  was  denied  by  psychology. 
Apparently  we  are  nearly  done  with  such  kenotic  psychology.  See,  e.g., 
C.  H.  Judd,  "Evolution  and  Consciousness,"  Psychological  Review,  XVII 
(1910),  77-97. 


PSYCHOLOGY  OF  MENTAL  MECHANISMS         27 

Nor  is  even  this  the  whole  story.  Nearly  all  our  re- 
actions to  these  things  are  molded  upon  customs  or 
pre-existing  man  ways.  From  washing  one's  face  in  the 
morning  to  donning  one's  pajamas  at  night  one  does 
chiefly  the  things  that  are  socially  prescribed.  This 
conformity  of  the  individual  to  his  group  is  a  theme  of 
satirist  and  of  social  psychologist  alike.  So  shortsighted 
is  the  notion  that  the  function  of  mind  is  simply  adjust- 
ment to  the  physical  environment. 

But  the  notion  of  social  adjustment  also  has  its  own 
kind  of  evasiveness.  Social  psychology  shows  that  "my- 
self" and  " other-self"  are  not  first  given,  and  then 
adjusted,  but  that  the  two  arise  in  consciousness  as 
reciprocal  aspects  of  one  and  the  same  experience.1 
Therefore,  in  the  adjustment  that  takes  place  between 
you  and  me,  neither  of  us  is  a  merely  given  environmental 
fact;  neither  is  simply  accommodated  to  the  other,  but 
both  of  us  are  in  process  of  becoming  persons,  even  in 
the  act  of  social  adjustment.  Accordingly,  that  to  which 
we  adjust  ourselves  in  our  social  functions  has  to  be 
defined  as  an  ideal  toward  which  we  co-operatively  move. 
Stated  thus  generally,  the  principle  may  seem  to  be 
obscure,  but  see  how  simple  it  is  in  concrete  cases.  When 
I  start  a  fire  in  my  fireplace  in  order  that  my  friend  and 
I  may  enjoy  an  evening  together,  I  do  not  adjust  myself 
to  the  wood  or  to  the  fireplace — I  adjust  them  to  my 
friend  and  myself;  nor  does  either  of  us  merely  accom-^ 
modate  himself  to  the  other.  Conversation  is  far  dif- 
ferent from  this.  It  is,  in  fact,  a  method  whereby  we  two 

1  This,  which  is  now  a  commonplace,  was  brought  to  general  recog- 
nition in  this  country  largely  by  J.  M.  Baldwin's  Social  and  Ethical 
Interpretations  (New  York,  1897). 


28  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

mutually  modify  ourselves  so  as  to  be  adjusted  to  a 
common  ideal. 

This  partially  answers  our  other  question,  What  is 
it  that  secures  adjustment  through  mental  functioning  ? 
Psychology  is  cautious  here.  It  wishes  especially  to 
avoid  the  unworkable  notion  of  the  soul  as  a  thing-in- 
itself,  apart  from  particular  experiences.  By  fixing 
attention  upon  states  of  consciousness  as  such  psychology 
was  able  for  a  time  to  postpone  consideration  of  what 
it  is  that  secures  adjustment  in  the  functions  called 
mental.  But  the  problem  is  forced  upon  us  by  the 
necessity  of  recognizing  a  difference  between  the  concept 
"process"  and  the  concept  "function."  Mental  func- 
tion implies  such  things  as  need,  want,  desire,  purpose, 
ideal;  and  these  lead  away  from  states,  thought  of  as 
merely  compounded,  toward  the  notion  of  self -realizing 
personality.  The  shyness  of  psychology  toward  any 
such  notion  as  personality  is  not  without  justification, 
it  is  true.  The  only  way  to  secure  freedom  from  dog- 
matic and  speculative  entanglements  has  been  to  ignore 
certain  troublesome  problems.  But  surely  we  cannot 
absorb  "process"  into  "function"  and  still  retain  process 
as  mere  change  per  se.  Nor  are  we  helped  by  speaking, 
as  many  are  doing,  of  mental  processes  as  functions  of 
"the  organism."  Such  terminology  merely  conceals  or 
evades  the  problem.  To  substitute  for  "organism"  the 
term  "psycho-physical  organism"  or  "mind-body"1 
locates  the  problem,  to  be  sure,  but  it  does  not  face 
it.  "Function"  means  that  something  in  the  end 
is  better  off.  What  is  better  off,  and  what  is  it  to  be 
better  off? 

1  Ames,  op.  cit.,  p.  20. 


PSYCHOLOGY  OF  MENTAL  MECHANISMS         29 

If,  on  the  other  hand,  we  attempt  to  construe  function 
from  the  standpoint  of  particular  responses  to  particular 
stimuli,1  we  encounter  some  peculiar  difficulties.  In 
the  first  place,  is  our  datum  " stimulus  and  response'7  or 
"situation  and  response"  ?  In  many  cases,  at  least,  the 
objects  that  stimulate  us  get  their  specific  stimulating 
quality  from  the  interest  of  the  moment.  A  loaded  table 
is  not  the  same  thing  to  a  starving  man  that  it  is  to  a 
sated  one,  nor  is  sudden  immersion  in  water  the  same 
thing  to  an  experienced  swimmer  that  it  is  to  one  who 
has  not  learned  to  swim.  If  we  attempt  to  get  below 
such  situations  to  mere  stimuli,  we  think  of  each  item 
thereof  as  stimulus  of  a  particular  sensation.  Now, 
inasmuch  as  sensations  are  not  concretely  existing  things 
but  only  aspects  of  a  total  experience,  a  stimulus  of  a 
sensation  is  itself  only  an  aspect  of  a  total  situation. 
Our  responses  are  made  to  situations  rather  than  to 
stimuli.  Further,  since  responses  are  functions,  they 
have  a  predetermined  tendency.  There  is  no  such 
thing  as  response  in  general,  or  strictly  random  responses. 
For  example,  learning  by  "trial  and  error,"  in  animals 
and  in  man,  involves  as  one  primary  factor  the  learner's 
"set"  toward  something.2  A  mental  reaction,  then,  at 
whatever  level  we  take  mind,  is  a  response  toward 
something  as  well  as  to  something,  and  this  "toward" 
reveals  the  nature  of  the  reactor. 

What,  then,  are  we  who  are  the  termini  of  adjustment 
functions?  By  way  of  answer  one  is  tempted  to  say, 

1  Cf.  Irving  King,  The  Development  of  Religion  (New  York,  1910), 
p.  ii. 

3E.  L.  Thorndike,  Psychology  of  Learning  (New  York,  1913), 
pp.  13,  22,  26. 


30  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

Why  not  ask  the  neighbors!  We  are  mutually  defining 
our  wants  and  forming  our  purposes,  and  this  is  what 
defines  us.  A  person  is  any  reactor  that  approves  or 
disapproves  its  own  reactions,  or  that  realizes  conse- 
quences as  successes  or  failures  of  its  own.  In  the 
functions  best  known  to  us  persons  are  adjusting  them- 
selves to  the  ideals  or  standards  of  personal-social  life 
that  they  set  before  themselves,  and  to  this  end  they 
are  using — not  adjusting  themselves  to — whatever  they 
regard  as  subpersonal. 

The  supposed  obscurity  of  the  notion  of  personal 
selves  is  not  native  to  this  concept — the  obscurity  has 
been  imported  into  it  by  attempting  to  construe  the 
more  clear  (our  socially  communicable  desires  and 
purposes)  in  terms  of  the  less  clear  (animal  life  that  lacks 
means  of  communication).  Human  functions  are  just 
what  they  seem  to  be  from  a  fully  achieved  human  point 
of  view.1  Functional  psychology,  accordingly,  should  be, 
first  and  foremost,  a  j^svchofogv  of  pfirfirmal  ^^ 
realizations.  The  functional  psychology  of  religion  must 
be  this  above  all  things  else.3  ^ 

1  To  think  of  human  functions  as  merely  complex  cases  of  subhuman 
function,  as  King  seems  to  do  (op.  cit.,  p.  39),  endangers  the  functional 
point  of  view  altogether.    This  may  be  seen  in  the  tendency  of  this 
passage  of  King's  to  construe  mental  life  in  terms  of  combinations 
within  a  mechanically  controlled  system. 

2  Ames,  who  attempts  to  construe  the  functions  of  religion  from  a 
quasi-biological  point  of  view,  exhibits  two  quite  natural  consequences: 
(i)  His  notion  of  function,  in  spite  of  the  general  clarity  of  his  exposition, 
contains  a  fundamental  obscurity.    "Adjustment"  is  his  basal  category, 
but  just  what  is  adjusted,  and  to  what,  does  not  distinctly  appear. 
"The  organism,"  it  is  said,  "adjusts  itself  to  its  environment,'*  but  the 
adjustment  "occurs  through  the  psycho-physical  organism"  as  though 
this  were  mere  instrument.    Yet  the  adjustment  in  question  is  an  adjust- 


PSYCHOLOGY  OF  MENTAL  MECHANISMS         31 

It  remains  to  state  in  summary  fashion  what  would 
constitute  such  a  psychology  of  persons,  (i)  Its  dis- 
tinctive material  would  be  society  in  the  strict  sense  of 
this  term,  that  is,  persons  communicating  their  desires 
and  purposes  to  one  another,  and  thereby  co-operating 
with  or  opposing  one  another.  (2)  The  focus  of  attention 
would  be  mental  functions,  that  is,  action  conscious  (or 
becoming  conscious)  of  its  own  direction  and  approving 
(or  disapproving)  it.  (3)  The  method  would  be  genetic, 
that  is,  the  material  would  be  so  analyzed  and  arranged 
as  to  exhibit  the  coming  to  conscious  purpose  of  both 
the  individual  and  the  race.  (4)  Mental  content,  accord- 
ingly, would  be  treated  from  the  standpoint  of  the  use 
made  of  it  in  the  interpretation  of  life's  meaning,  and 
mental  mechanism  from  the  standpoint  of  the  purposed 
control  of  life.  (5)  The  characteristic  special  problems 
would  concern  the  experience  of  values:  as,  (a)  What 
objects  do  men  value?  (b)  What  is  it  in  each  class  of 
objects  that  makes'  them  valuable  ?  (c)  How  are  the 
different  classes  of  value  related  to  one  another  ?  (d)  In 
what  parts  of  our  total  experience  is  each  class  of  value 
realized?  (e)  In  what  order  and  by  what  method  do 
valuations  evolve? 

ment  "in"  the  psycho-physical  organism.  See  pp.  15,  18.  These 
phrases  indicate  the  inadequacy  of  the  merely  biological  point  of 
view,  but  they  do  not  establish  a  clearly  different  one.  (2)  His 
expositions  of  religious  experience  are  most  objective  when  he  deals 
with  the  lower  forms  of  religion,  in  which  instinctive  action  is 
most  prominent,  and  most  subjective  when  he  reaches  the  highest 
religion,  in  which  self-realizations  take  more  distinctively  personal 
forms.  By  "subjective"  here  I  mean  particularly  a  disposition  to 
reinterpret  the  values  of  the  developed  personal  will.  Perhaps  the 
clearest  example  is  Ames's  treatment  of  the  functions  of  the  idea 
of  God. 


32  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

APPENDIX 

ON  THE   SPECIFIC  NATURE   OF  MENTAL  FUNCTIONS 

From  the  preceding  discussion  it  must  be  obvious  that  any 
adequate  functional  analysis  of  religion  depends  upon  the  notion 
of  "function"  that  is  employed.  What,  then,  is  the  specific 
nature  of  mental  functions  ?  How  distinguish  them  from  others — 
say,  physiological  functions?  This  question  is  so  fundamental, 
and  it  has  been  investigated  so  little,  that  I  venture  to  reprint, 
with  slight  modifications,  an  article  on  the  subject  that  has 
already  been  published  in  the  Psychological  Review  (XXII  [1915], 
87-98),  under  the  title  "A  Proposed  Classification  of  Mental 
Functions": 

Whenever  anything  is  declared  to  be  a  function  of  mind,  we 
should  be  able  to  discover  both  the  general  sense  in  which  the 
term  "function"  is  used,  and  also  the  setting  of  the  particular 
function  hi  question  within  a  functional  whole.  This  is  as  much 
as  to  say  that  classification  of  mental  functions  should  have  a 
place  in  functional  psychology  that  will  correspond  to  the  position 
now  occupied  hi  structural  psychology  by  lists  of  mental  elements 
and  modes  of  combination.  Up  to  the  present  time  such  a  sys- 
tematic background  has  been  lacking.  As  a  consequence,  the 
undefined  fringe  of  meaning  in  discussions  of  functions  leaves 
still  too  much  room  for  misunderstanding  one  another,  or  even 
one's  self.  Further,  the  lack  of  classification  implies  that  we  are 
not  yet  ready  to  begin  describing  functions  in  terms  of  functional 
laws.  Such  is  the  unsatisfactory  situation  out  of  which  the 
following  discussion  attempts  to  take  a  single  step. 

The  approaches  thus  far  made  toward  a  classification  of 
mental  functions  fall  into  the  following  classes: 

1.  Affirmations  of  the  purposive  character  of  mind,  without 
any  list  of  specific  functions.1 

2.  The  oft-made  assertion  that  the  fundamental  functions  of 
all  life,  mind  included,  are  nutrition  and  reproduction.     At  a 

'E.g.,  J.  E.  Creighton,  "The  Standpoint  and  Method  of  Psy- 
chology," Philosophical  Review,  March,  1914;  H.  Miinsterberg,  Psy- 
chology, General  and  Applied,  1914,  and  R.  M.  Ogden,  Introduction  to 
General  Psychology,  1914. 


PSYCHOLOGY  OF  MENTAL  MECHANISMS         33 

later  point  I  shall  ask  what,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  mind  does  with 
these  two  vital  processes.  At  once,  however,  I  would  point  out 
that  some  of  the  so-called  "irradiations"  from  primitive  hunger 
and  love — for  example,  science — have  characters  of  their  own  which 
it  requires  some  violence  to  call  either  nutritive  or  reproductive. 

3.  To  each  item  in  a  structural  classification  of  mind  Angell 
has  added  the  question,  What  is  its  function  ?    There  results  what 
might  be  called  an  engineer's  drawing  of  mind  as  an  adjusting 
mechanism.    It  goes  far  toward  supplying  the  functional  classifi- 
cation that  I  am  seeking,  and  as  a  consequence  I  shall  borrow 
rather  freely  from  it.    That  it  needs  supplementing,   however, 
should  be  clear  from  these  two  considerations:    first,  Angell's 
list  of  functions  is  not  based  upon  similarities  and  differences 
among  the  functions  themselves;  he  merely  finds  and  describes  a 
function  for  each  element  of  structure;    secondly,  his  genetic 
method  keeps  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  earliest  mental  reaction,  the 
terminus  a  quo,  whereas  our  problem — the  direction  of  mental 
movement — requires  us  to  consider  also  the  most  developed  reaction 
as  a  terminus  ad  quern.    I  find  no  fault  with  Angell  for  not  answer- 
ing questions  that  he  does  not  raise,  but  functional  psychology 
must  surely  incorporate  into  itself  a  fuller  description  of  the  inter- 
ests of  developed  mind.    After  we  have  named  early  utilities,  and 
even  after  we  have  made  such  generalizations  as  that  mind 
extends  the  control  and  organization  of  movements,  something 
in  the  nature  of  function  still  remains  over.    To  illustrate:    If 
you  should  ask  what  are  the  functions  of  a  dividing  engine,  I 
might  answer  by  showing  how  each  wheel  and  lever  contributes  * 
to  the  accurate  control  of  movement,  and  I  might  generalize  by 
saying  that  this  instrument  as  a  whole  has  the  function  of  so  / 
adjusting  our  motions  as  to  enable  us  to  make  extremely  minute  ( 
divisions  of  a  surface.    This  would  be  a  functional  description,  no 
doubt,  yet  beyond  it  lies  the  destination  of  the  whole,  namely, 
certain  sciences  in  the  interest  of  which  the  dividing  engine  exists 
at  all.    Just  so,  the  proposition  that  mind  increases  the  extent 
and  the  fineness  of  our  adjustments  needs  to  be  supplemented  by 
inquiry  into  the  terminal  meaning  of  the  whole. 

4.  A  fourth  approach  to  a  functional  classification  proceeds 
as   follows:    Mental    functions  are  correlative  with  interests; 


34  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

interests  have  their  roots  in  instinctive  satisfactions;  therefore  an 
inventory  of  instincts  would  be  ipso  facto  a  list  of  the  functions 
of  mind.  Let  us,  then,  look  to  our  original  nature,  that  is,  to  our 
unlearned  tendencies  to  react  hi  specific  ways,  or  to  take  satis- 
faction hi  predetermined  kinds  of  mental  occupation.  The  pro- 
gram is  attractive,  and  we  shall  see  that  it  yields  results  that 
have  an  important  bearing  upon  our  problem,  though  not  quite 
the  results  that  are  commonly  expected.  For,  first,  the  "original" 
nature  of  man  means  the  part  of  his  nature  that  is  disclosed 
antecedently  to  all  culture,  that  is,  before  the  mind  has  performed 
some  of  its  most  characteristic  acts.1  Secondly,  the  broad  mental 
areas  traditionally  called  instincts  are  disappearing  from  the 
psychologic  map,  and  in  their  stead  there  is  appearing  a  vast, 
indefinite  number  of  narrow  adjustment  acts.  For  example, 
Thorndike  says  that  "reaching  is  not  a  single  instinct,  but  includes 
at  least  three  somewhat  different  responses  to  three  very  different 
situations."2  Thus,  the  farther  back  we  go  in  our  mental  history 
the  greater  the  difficulty  of  functional  classification,  unless  we 
constantly  look  forward  as  well  as  backward.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  very  minuteness  and  rigor  of  Thorndike's  analysis  reveal  cer- 
tain general,  forward-looking  tendencies.  Thus,  there  is  a  tend- 
ency to  be  or  to  become  conscious;3  there  is  an  original  "love  of 
sensory  life  for  its  own  sake";4  there  is  spontaneous  preference 
for  experiences  in  which  there  is  mental  control;5  finally,  there  is 
a  native  capacity  for  learning.6  In  short,  there  are  "original 
tendencies  of  the  original  tendencies  ....  original  tendencies 
not  to  this  or  that  particular  sensitivity,  bond  or  power  of  response, 
but  of  sensitivities,  connections  and  responses,  in  general."7  Here, 
I  take  it,  is  where  interests,  in  the  proper  sense  of  the  term,  come 
in.  If  we  are  to  define  our  mental  functions  by  our  interests,  we 
must  consider,  not  merely  tendencies  to  this  or  that  sensitivity, 
but  also  and  particularly  our  tendencies  to  organize  or  do  some- 

1  E.  L.  Thorndike,  The  Original  Nature  of  Man  (1913),  pp.  198  f.; 
also  Education  (1912),  chap.  v. 

2  Original  Nature,  p.  50.  *  Ibid,,  pp.  141  f. 
*Ibid.y  p.  170!.  6Ibid.}  p.  171. 

«  Ibid.,  p.  141.  7/W,  p,  170. 


PSYCHOLOGY  OF  MENTAL  MECHANISMS         35 

thing  with  our  sensitivities.  Some  results  of  Thorndike's  analysis 
of  such  tendencies  I  shall  take  over  into  my  own  classification. 

5.  Some  of  the  conditions  for  a  general  classification  of  mental 
functions  are  fulfilled  in  recent  discussions  of  value.1  Here  func- 
tion is  treated  as  function;  it  is  not  confused  with  elements  of 
structure,  nor  is  a  given  function  identified  with  its  earliest,  crudest 
form.  Sense  of  direction  from  something  to  something  is  here. 
Urban's  list  of  values,  in  particular,  conveys  a  sense  of  the  general 
direction  of  the  movement  of  mind.  What  is  still  needed  is  some- 
thing like  a  combination  of  Angell,  Thorndike,  and  Urban.  The 
reason  why  lists  of  values  need  supplementing  is  twofold:  first, 
they  do  not  comprehend  mind  as  a  whole,  for  example,  its  biological 
aspects;  secondly,  several  types  of  value,  as  will  presently  appear, 
are  not  simple  functions,  but  functional  complexes. 

These  converging  lines  in  recent  psychology  may  be  summarily 
described  as  follows:  (a)  All  mental  process  whatsoever  is  pur- 
posive, and  it  should  be  analyzed  from  this  as  well  as  from  the 
structural  standpoint — that  is,  mental  functions  must  be  deter- 
mined, (b)  The  human  mind  is  functionally  as  well  as  structurally 
continuous  with  the  animal  mind,  so  that  a  classification  of  func- 
tions must  include  the  biological  point  of  view,  (c)  The  termini  of 
mind,  by  which  functions  are  defined,  include  conscious  interests, 
or  self-defining  ends,  (d)  Several  specific  functions  of  both  the 
biological  type  and  the  conscious-interest  type  have  been  defined 
here  and  there  in  scattered  places. 

What  remains  to  be  done  is  to  systematize  these  results;  to 
discover  and,  if  possible,  to  fill  remaining  gaps,  and  to  show  the 
relation  of  the  resulting  functional  concepts  to  older,  more  current 
psychological  categories.  The  whole  must,  of  course,  be  descrip- 
tion, not  evaluation.  The  work  of  functional  psychology  is  not 
to  tell  us  what  we  ought  to  prefer,  but  to  determine,  as  a  matter 
of  observable  fact,  what  mind  does  actually  go  toward  and  "for." 
Two  main  divisions,  each  with  several  subdivisions,  are  implied  in 
what  has  already  been  said. 

A.  Biological  functions. — To  occupy  the  biological  stand- 
point— which  is  simply  a  point  of  view  used  temporarily  for 

1  The  chief  classifications  of  value  are  summarized  by  J.  S.  Moore, 
"The  System  of  Values,"  Journal  of  Philosophy,  VII  (1910),  282-91. 


36  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

certain  purposes,  and  not  necessarily  more  true  or  fundamental 
than  other  points  of  view — is  to  think  of  living  beings  without 
reference  to  any  approvals  or  preferences,  any  "better  and  worse." 
The  biological  functions  of  mind  consist  in  quantitatively  deter- 
minable  increases  in  range  of  response  to  environment.  Thus: 

1.  Increase  in  the  spatial  range  of  objects  responded  to. 

2.  Increase  in  the  temporal  range  of  objects  responded  to. 

3.  Increase  in  the  range  of  magnitudes  to  which  response  is 
made. 

4.  Increase  in  the  range  of  qualities  responded  to. 

5.  Increase  in  the  range  of  environmental  co-ordinations  to 
which  co-ordinated  responses  are  made. 

This  list  will  remain  the  same  whether  we  approach  the  facts 
from  the  behaviorist  standpoint  or  from  that  of  traditional  psy- 
chology. I  call  these  functions  mental  for  two  reasons:  because 
they  characterize  mind  in  its  most  conscious  as  well  as  its  less 
conscious  stages,  and  because  these  directions  of  movement, 
though  they  are  established  before  we  reflect  upon  them,  become, 
after  reflection,  conscious  purposes. 

The  relation  of  this  analysis  to  the  popular  categories,  nutri- 
tion and  reproduction,  requires  a  word  of  explanation.  To  begin 
with  nutrition,  what  has  mind,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  to  do  with  it  ? 
(a)  Mind  connotes  changes  in  the  feeding  reaction  that  fall  under 
one  or  more  of  the  above-listed  functions.  But  the  law  here  is  a 
general  one;  it  applies  likewise  to  protection  from  weather,  from 
accidents,  and  from  enemies,  and  it  applies  also  to  social  organi- 
zation, science,  and  art.  As  far  as  range  of  response  is  concerned, 
then,  we  need  no  special  nutrition  category,  (b)  Mind  connotes 
success  in  a  competitive  struggle  over  a  limited  supply  of  food. 
Increase  of  mind  makes  a  difference  here,  but  hi  what  ?  Can  the 
difference  be  expressed  in  terms  of  nutrition  ?  No;  for  nutritive 
functions  would  go  on  at  least  as  well  if  no  competition  occurred, 
or  if  the  mentally  inferior  animal  had  happened  to  get  the  food 
instead  of  the  mentally  superior  one.  The  difference  made  by 
mind  is  that  some  new  object  or  quality  is  responded  to,  where- 
upon the  more  differentiated  response  may  be  perpetuated  by 
inheritance  or  by  training.  Here  the  function  appears  to  be  not 
nutrition  but  the  production  of  a  more  specialized  individual. 


PSYCHOLOGY  OF  MENTAL  MECHANISMS         37 

(c)  It  is  at  least  as  correct  to  say  that  mind  moves  away  from  as 
toward  nutrition.  For,  correlative  with  the  growth  of  mind  is 
restriction  of  feeding  to  specialized  kinds  of  food,  and  consequent 
increase  in  the  mechanical  cost  of  getting  it.  The  ocean  brings 
food  to  an  oyster;  a  cat  must  hunt  for  its  living.  Everywhere  the 
discriminative  appetite  is  the  expensive  one.  (d)  If  we  scrutinize 
cases  in  which  feeding  appears  to  be  the  end  of  conscious  effort,  we 
find,  almost  if  not  quite  invariably,  that  the  very  act  of  consciously 
seeking  food  gives  to  nutrition  the  place  of  means  to  some  experi- 
ence beyond  itself.  The  labor  movement  illustrates  this  principle 
on  a  large  scale.  Even  if  the  central  stimulus  of  this  movement 
could  be  identified  as  hunger  (which  is  doubtful),  the  conscious 
end  of  the  struggle  is  home  life,  leisure,  culture,  the  education  of 
children,  free  participation  hi  the  determination  of  one's  destiny. 
(e)  But  it  may  be  said  that  mind  has  stabilized  the  food  supply 
and  produced  a  more  even  distribution  of  it.  Civilization  will 
soon  reach  a  point  at  which  famines  can  no  longer  occur.  What,  it 
may  be  asked,  is  the  meaning  of  the  present  movement  for  agri- 
cultural instruction,  and  indeed  for  vocational  training  in  its 
whole  extent,  if  not  just  this,  that  men  want  enough  to  eat? 
Here,  indeed,  is  excellent  material  for  answering  the  question  as  to 
what  mind  is  about  when  it  seeks  food.  The  crucial  question  for 
us  is  whether  the  direction  of  the  mind's  movement  here  can  be 
defined  as  from  hunger  to  repletion.  Of  course,  food  is  an  object 
of  conscious  desire.  So  is  getting  to  Albany  on  time  an  object  of 
desire  on  the  part  of  one  who  is  traveling  from  New  York  to 
Buffalo  by  way  of  the  New  York  Central.  The  road  to  our  social 
ends  certainly  takes  the  food-supply  route.  But,  as  in  the  case 
of  the  labor  movement,  social  food-seeking  that  begins  instinc- 
tively awakens,  sooner  or  later,  a  consciousness  of  the  social  values 
broadly  called  cultural,  and  these  it  is  that  define  the  specifically 
mental  destination  or  function. 

Turning  now  to  the  question  whether  reproduction  should  be 
accounted  a  mental  function,  we  find  the  course  of  evolution  not 
at  all  ambiguous.  Reproduction  is  most  prolific  in  the  lowest 
ranges  of  life.  Mental  development  is  clearly  correlated  with 
decrease  in  the  birth-rate.  How  many  factors  are  involved  in 
this  decrease  I  will  not  attempt  to  say,  but  certainly  mind  is  one 


38  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

of  them.  Herbert  Spencer  realized  this  fact,1  though  he  did  not 
bring  out  the  full  significance  of  it.  John  Fiske's  two  essays  on 
human  infancy2  carry  us  much  farther.  Mind  individualizes  the 
various  living  beings  that  are  involved,  first  the  offspring  and 
then  the  parents.  The  obvious  mental  function  is  not  reproduc- 
tion of  existing  types,  but  the  production  of  certain  new,  more 
specialized  types.  Mind  does  not  stimulate  reproduction  any 
more  than  it  stimulates  hunger;  it  does  not  increase  fertility  any 
more  than  it  increases  assimilation.  But  just  as  mind  specializes 
foods  and  increases  the  cost  of  feeding,  so  it  individualizes  living 
beings  and  increases  the  cost  of  each  individual.  The  whole  may 
be  viewed  as  on  the  one  hand  an  increase  of  inhibitions,  and  on 
the  other  hand  a  focalizing  of  dispersed  attention.  In  short,  the 
biological  functions  of  mind  can  be  altogether  expressed  as  increase 
in  the  range  of  objects  and  qualities  responded  to,  and  in  range  of 
co-ordination  of  responses. 

B.  Preferential  functions. — Our  discussion  of  nutrition  and 
reproduction  has  already  brought  us  face  to  face  with  conscious 
preferences,  that  is,  mind  defining  its  own  direction.  We  may 
take  for  granted,  I  suppose,  that  satisfactions  are,  in  general,  a 
sign  of  unimpeded  mental  action,  and  that  we  can  tell  one  another 
about  our  satisfactions.  One  may,  indeed,  be  mistaken  as  to 
what  one  likes,  that  is,  as  to  what  it  is  in  a  complex  that  makes 
it  likable,  but  such  mistakes  can  be  discovered  and  corrected, 
chiefly  by  further  communication.  The  functions  of  our  second 
main  division,  then,  are  always  qualitative  (implying  a  "better 
and  worse"),  and  they  are  scientifically  known  through  communi- 
cation by  means  of  language.  Thus  it  is  that  many  preferences 
have  already  been  successfully  studied,  such  as  color  preferences, 
the  likes  and  dislikes  of  children  with  respect  to  pictures  and  with 
respect  to  future  occupations,  merit  in  handwriting,  merit  in  Eng- 
lish composition,  merit  as  a  psychologist,  the  comic,  persuasiveness, 
even  moral  excellence.3  Such  experimental  studies  have  the  effect, 

1  Principles  of  Biology,  Part  VI,  especially  chaps,  xii  and  xiii. 

2  Reprinted    under    the    title,    The  Meaning   of  Infancy,  in   the 
"Riverside  Educational  Monograph"  series  (Boston,  1909). 

3  H.  L.  Hollingworth  gives  a  list  of  "order  of  merit"  researches  in 
"Experimental  Studies  in  Judgment,"  Archives  of  Psychology   (New 
York,  1913),  pp.  n8f. 


PSYCHOLOGY  OF  MENTAL  MECHANISMS         39 

not  merely  of  discovering  preferences,  but  also  of  adding  precision 
to  preferences  already  recorded  in  the  world's  literature.  Would 
that  a  Hollingworth  might  have  been  present  throughout  human 
evolution  to  record  the  growth  of  human  preferences.  As  the 
case  stands,  we  must  combine  experiment  upon  present  preferences 
with  the  less  precise  study  of  life  as  reflected  in  literature,  art,  and 
institutions. 

Where  shall  we  look  for  a  basis  for  the  systematic  subdivision 
of  preferential  functions?  Suppose  we  compare  early  types  of 
reaction  with  late  ones,  say  Thorndike's  picture  of  original  nature 
with  value  analyses,  which  represent  developed  interests.  Let  us 
begin  with  the  fact  that  there  is  satisfaction  in  merely  being 
conscious.  To  be  conscious,  then,  we  may  count  as  the  first 
preferential  function.  Note,  next,  that  satisfaction  attaches  to 
mere  movement  of  attention  from  one  object  to  another,  as  in 
"love  of  sensory  life  for  its  own  sake."  May  we  not  say  that  a 
second  preferential  function  of  mind  is  to  multiply  its  objects? 
A  third  appears  in  the  preference  for  experiences  that  include 
control  of  objects.  A  fourth  is  closely  related  thereto,  namely, 
the  arrangement  of  objects  in  systems — it  is  a  function  of  mind 
to  unify  its  objects.  This  is  seen  all  up  and  down  the  scale  from 
the  spontaneous  perception  of  spatial  figures  in  the  starry  sky 
to  the  ordering  of  an  argument. 

These  four  preferential  functions  appear  to  be  fundamental, 
that  is,  not  further  analyzable.  If  we  turn,  hi  the  next  place,  to 
the  usual  value  categories  to  see  whether  we  may  not  find  further 
unanalyzable  functions,  we  come  upon  the  interesting,  not  to  say 
strange,  fact  that  ethical,  noetic,  religious,  and  even  economic 
values  presuppose  a  function  that  they  do  not  name.  Each  of 
these  types  of  value  depends  upon  the  existence  of  a  society  of 
intercommunicating  individuals,  yet  it  seems  not  to  have  occurred 
to  anyone  to  include  a  social  category — simply  and  specifically 
social — in  discussions  of  either  functions  or  values.  Should  not 
the  fifth  preferential  function  in  our  list,  then,  be  the  function  of 
being  social,  of  having  something  in  common  with  another  mind, 
in  short,  of  communicating  ?  The  justification,  not  to  say  neces- 
sity, for  recognizing  a  simply  social  function  of  mind  exists,  not 
alone  in  the  social  presupposition  of  several  recognized  values,  but 


40  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

also  in  a  long  series  of  genetic  studies  which,  from  one  angle 
after  another,  have  revealed  the  fundamentally  social  nature  of 
consciousness.1 

There  remains  for  consideration  our  aesthetic  experience. 
Doubtless  it  involves  functions  already  named,  particularly  the 
functions  of  unification  and  communication.  But  it  seems  to 
contain  also  an  attitude  somewhat  different  from  those  already 
named,  the  attitude  of  contemplation — the  taking  of  satisfaction 
in  objects  merely  as  there,  without  regard  to  anything  further 
that  may  happen  to  or  with  them.  Hence  I  add  contemplation 
to  the  list. 

The  preferential  functions,  then,  are  these: 

1.  To  be  conscious. 

2.  To  multiply  objects  of  consciousness. 

3.  To  control  objects,  one's  self  included. 

4.  To  unify  objects,  one's  self  included. 

5.  To  communicate,  that  is,  have  hi  common. 

6.  To  contemplate. 

Some  omissions  from  this  list  require  explanation.  Play  is 
omitted  because  it  involves  a  complex  of  i  and  2,  generally  3,  also 
sometimes  all  six,  and  because  it  is  fully  exhausted  therein. 
Truth  is  omitted  because,  as  far  as  it  is  not  an  abstraction  from 
actual  intellectual  functioning,  I  hold  it  to  be  analyzable  without 
remainder  into  functions  already  named,  especially  4  and  $.2  No 
ethical  function  appears  because  the  three  objectives  that  it  in- 
cludes— control,  unification,  socialization — already  have  appro- 
priate recognition  in  the  list.3  As  to  economic  value,  it  seems  to 
be  exhausted  in  the  notion  of  control  within  a  social  medium. 

1  It  is  true  that  these  are  commonly  studies  of  content  rather  than 
of  function,  and  that  "I"  and  "thou"  appear  therein  as  "idea  of  I" 
and  "idea  of  thou."  For  the  purposes  of  merely  structural  analysis 
this  is  doubtless  sufficient.  That  is,  structural  analysis  as  such  has 
no  place  at  all  for  the  experience  of  communication.  On  the  other  hand, 
communication  will  loom  large  in  any  adequate  general  analysis  of 
mental  functions. 

*  Cf.  A.  W.  Moore,  "Truth  Value,"  Journal  of  Philosophy,  V  (1908), 
429-36. 

J  Cf.  J.  H.  Tufts,  "Ethical  Value,"  ibid.,  517-22. 


PSYCHOLOGY  OF  MENTAL  MECHANISMS        41 

Finally,  religion  is  without  a  place  in  the  list  because  it  offers  no 
particular  value  of  its  own.  Religion  is  not  co-ordinate  with  other 
interests,  but  is  rather  a  movement  of  reinforcement,  unification, 
and  revaluation  of  values  as  a  whole,  particularly  in  social  terms.1 

It  will  be  asked,  no  doubt,  whether  the  functions  of  mind  can 
be  named  without  any  direct  reference  to  instinctive  desires.  In 
addition  to  what  has  already  been  said  concerning  nutrition  and 
reproduction — that  they  are,  so  to  say,  constants  that  find  a  supply 
at  every  level  of  mentality — it  may  now  be  added,  as  a  general 
truth,  that  mental  activity  exercised  upon  the  objects  of  instinctive 
desire  does  not  satisfy  the  desire  in  its  initial  form,  but  modifies 
the  desire  itself.  For  example,  what  has  at  first  only  a  derived 
interest  as  means  to  something  else  may  acquire  an  interest  of  its 
own,  and  become  an  end.  This  is  surely  the  way  that  science  has 
come  into  being,  and  very  likely  art  also.  The  evolution  of 
parental  and  of  conjugal  relations  offers  abundant  examples  of 
the  truth  that  the  distinctive  work  of  mind  with  our  desires  is  to 
differentiate  and  recreate  them.  Our  list  of  mental  functions, 
accordingly,  does  not  specify  particular  instincts,  but  only  the 
primary  ways  in  which  mind  works  among  them. 

A  question  may  arise,  also,  as  to  whether  higher  desires  or 
ideal  values  ought  not  to  appear  in  the  list.  Is  not  the  most 
distinctive  achievement  of  mind  in  the  realm  of  desires,  it  may 
be  said,  the  mastery  of  certain  ones  in  the  interest  of  others? 
I  agree  that  "the  desires  of  the  self-conscious"  must  be  recognized 
as  having  a  character  of  their  own,2  and  that  a  list  of  mental 
functions  must  do  justice  to  them.  "The  valuation  of  persons  as 
persons  constitutes  a  relatively  independent  type,  one  which  pre- 
supposes a  differentiation  of  object  and  attitude."3  The  list  as  it 
stands,  however,  will  be  found  to  do  justice  to  this  differentiation. 
Here  are  self-control,  self-unification,  self-socialization,  with  the 
implication  that  all  this  applies  to  any  and  every  self,  both 
actualized  selves  and  ideal  selves. 

1  G.  A.  Coe,  "Religious  Value,"  ibid.,  253-56. 

2  A.  O.  Lovejoy,  "The  Desires  of    the  Self-Conscious,"  ibid.,  IV 
(1907),  29-39. 

3  W.  M.  Urban,  Valuation,  Its  Nature  and  Laws,  (London,  1909), 
p.  282;   see  also  p.  269. 


42  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

Finally,  inasmuch  as  no  pleasurable  sense  quality  of  objects 
is  mentioned  in  the  list,  but  only  "objects,  one's  self  included," 
doubt  may  arise  as  to  whether  the  functions  here  named  are  not 
merely  formal  and  contentless.  Functions  would  indeed  be  merely 
formal  if  they  were  so  denned  as  to  imply  indifference  to  the 
specific  qualities  of  things.  "Pure  intellect"  is  certainly  a  mere 
abstraction,  never  a  function.  In  a  list  of ' '  preferential  functions," 
however,  satisfactions  are  everywhere  presupposed,  not  ignored. 
Granted  both  agreeable  and  disagreeable  objects  as  data,  our 
question  is  what  mind  does  with  such  data.  Psychology  is,  of 
course,  free  from  the  old  hedonistic  fallacy  that  the  only  thing  we 
can  do  with  satisfactions  is  to  seek  for  them,  and  that  the  only 
thing  we  can  do  with  dissatisfactions  is  to  avoid  them.  What  we 
try  to  do  hi  the  presence  of  such  data  is  to  control  and  organize 
them,  sifting  out  an  item  here,  deliberately  enlarging  an  item 
there,  all  in  the  interest  of  being,  so  to  say,  at  home  with  one's  self  and 
with  one's  fellows.  In  short,  the  preferential  functions  here  named 
represent  persons  as  mutually  attaining  freedom  in  the  world  as  it  is. 
Such  persons  are  as  concrete  as  anything  can  conceivably  be. 


CHAPTER  III 
THE  DATA,  AND  HOW  THEY  ARE  ASCERTAINED 

What  does  one  do  when  one  is  religious  ?  This  is  the 
first  question  that  the  functional  psychology  of  religion 
has  to  ask.  "What  one  does"  means  first  of  all  external 
acts  that  another  can  observe,  such  as  the  religious  dance 
of  a  savage,  the  going  to  church  of  one  of  us,  or  the 
founding  of  a  hospital  by  a  religious  society.  If  we  could 
construct  a  complete  catalogue  of  the  religious  acts  of 
men,  women,  and  children  at  all  stages  of  culture,  it 
would  be  most  illuminating. 

But  it  would  be  illuminating  chiefly  because  we 
should  read  into  it  appropriate  meanings.  Into  one  act 
we  should  read  hunger,  or  anxiety  regarding  the  food 
supply;  into  another,  fear  of  demons;  into  still  another, 
hope  of  an  ideal  society.  In  order  that  these  "readings 
in"  may  be  true  and  not  arbitrary,  we  need  to  note,  in 
addition  to  religious  acts,  any  further  expression  of  men's 
meaning  in  these  acts.  We  must  imaginatively  get  inside 
the  experiences  that  we  would  understand.  This  is  not 
always  easy.  Suppose,  for  instance,  that  we  observe 
some  savages  moving  about  rhythmically  to  the  accom- 
paniment of  drums;  we  call  this  a  dance,  and  at  once 
we  are  in  danger  of  giving  it  a  meaning  too  closely 
analogous  to  that  of  our  own  dances.  Again,  if  we 
discover  that  this  dance  is  like  a  buffalo  hunt  or  a 
battle,  we  may  call  it  a  dramatic  representation,  and 
then  falsely  imagine  that  it  has  close  relations  to  our 

43 


44  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

own  dramatic  interests.  It  is  essential,  then,  that  we 
should  know  what  men  tell  about  their  religion  as  well 
as  what  they  do.  The  telling  is  partly  speech,  partly 
pictorial  or  symbolic  art. 

What  a  particular  man  or  a  particular  group  men- 
tions as  the  meaning  of  an  act  must  be  compared,  of 
course,  with  what  other  men  and  groups  say  about  the 
same  or  similar  acts.  Earlier  utterances  are  to  be  com- 
pared with  later  ones,  so  that,  if  possible,  meanings  may 
be  seen  to  develop  according  to  some  law.  We  who 
psychologize  are  not  required  to  accept  as  the  value  or 
meaning  of  religion  what  religion  asserts -of  itself  at 
any  one  stage,  high  or  low,  but  we  analyze  these  different 
self-realizations  in  order  to  see  in  what  direction  they 
are  going  as  a  whole. 

The  present  movement  for  a  psychology  of  religion 
attempted  at  the  outset  to  get  at  its  data  in  a  most 
direct  way,  namely,  by  going  to  living  men  and  women 
with  questions  concerning  their  experiences.  Starbuck's 
Psychology  of  Religion  is  based,  for  the  most  part,  upon 
returns  from  question  circulars — also  called  question- 
naires. An  active  discussion  of  the  question-list  method 
has  followed.1  Among  its  limitations  may  be  noted: 

i.  Unintentional  selection  oj  data. — (a)  The  distribu- 
tion of  the  question  lists  can  be  known  to  cover  the  sources 
of  possible  data  evenly  and  adequately  only  now  and 
then,  (b)  Responses  are  usually  made  by  some  only  of 
those  who  receive  the  circulars.  Since  the  non-responding 
attitude  may  well  be  connected  with  some  fact  of  re- 
ligious life,  those  who  respond  cannot  be  assumed  to  rep- 

1  See  Topical  Bibliography  under  the  head,  "Methods  in  the 
Psychology  of  Religion." 


THE  DATA  ASCERTAINED  45 

resent  the  whole,  (c)  When  several  questions  are  asked, 
it  is  common  for  respondents  to  answer  only  a  part. 
(d)  Rarely,  if  ever,  may  we  assume  that  a  respondent 
gives  all  the  important  data  concerning  that  which  he 
describes.  He  selects  what  seem  to  him  the  things  most 
important  or  appropriate,  (e)  The  questions  commonly 
present  a  set  of  categories  into  which  the  answers  are 
expected  to  fall.  Persons  whose  experiences  happen  to 
be  hit  off  by  these  categories  have  a  special  incentive 
for  responding,  while  persons  who  find  no  category  that 
seems  to  fit  them  have  incentive  for  not  responding. 
Thus,  the  returns  tend  to  become  weighted  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  investigator's  own  presuppositions. 

2.  Answers  suggested  by  the  questions. — A  great  part 
of  our  intellectual  process  is  not  thinking  in  any  strict 
sense,  but  drifting  with  the  idea  that  happens  to  be 
presented.     See  how  much  yonder  cloud  resembles  a 
castle.    Of  course  it  does!    So  the  answer  to  a  question 
concerning  one's  inner  life  is  likely  to  be  bent  to  the 
question  itself.    The  terminology  of  the  question  may 
determine  the  terminology  of  the  answer,  regardless  of 
appropriateness.     The  respondent  may  naturally  and 
properly  adapt  himself  to  the  mood  of  the  questioner. 
The  form  of  the  question  may  recall  certain  things  and 
put  others  out  of  mind.    In  short,  the  attention  of  the 
respondent  is  likely  to  be  passively  controlled,  so  that 
the  question  partly  creates  its  own  answer.1 

3.  Inaccurate     observation,    especially    when    intro- 
spection is    required. — The   distortions    that    occur   in 
most  persons'  observations,  and  especially  in  our  notions 

1  An  extensive  investigation  of  this  process  among  school  children 
is  reported  by  A.  Binet,  La  Suggestibility  (Paris,  1900). 


46  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

about  ourselves,  are  notorious.  It  is  vain  to  expect 
question  circulars  to  elicit  psychological  items  all  ready 
to  be  catalogued,  summed  up,  and  generalized.1 

4.  Inaccuracy  of  memory. — Memory  tends  to  drop 
out  some  items  and  to  reconstruct  others.    The  question- 
circular  method  has  no  means  of  checking  up  such 
errors. 

5.  Inaccurate  or  inadequate  description. — Description 
as  well  as  observation  requires  training.    In  matters  of 
religion  many  persons  seem  incapable  of  freeing  them- 
selves from  the  stock  phrases  to  which  they  have  listened 
in  churches  and  Sunday  schools.    Other  persons  simply 
lack  vocabulary,  and  therefore  use  inappropriate  terms. 
Finally,  a  standard  of  accuracy  and  precision  is  generally 
lacking. 

6.  Necessity  of  interpreting  returns. — A  few  census- 
like  returns,  such  as  date,  age,  place,  and  the  like,  can 
safely  be  counted  and  offered  as  statistics  of  the  persons 
who  make  the  returns.    But  even  here  caution  is  neces- 
sary because  of  liability  to  memory  errors,  and  because 
the  thing  dated,  such  as  "  conversion,"  may  not  be  the 
same  in  all  the  returns.    Beyond  this  nearly  everything 
has  to  be  interpreted  by  the  investigator.    For  example, 
traditional  or  biblical  language  can  often  mean  several 
different  things.    "Doubts"  may  mean  either  an  intel- 
lectual attitude  or  an  emotion  of  insecurity.    "  Sense  of 
sin"  has  correspondingly  different  uses.    " Conversion," 
when  it  is  not  used  in  the  New  Testament  sense  of  a 

1  Various  clergymen  have  sent  out  question  lists  concerning  such 
subjects  as  "why  men  do  not  go  to  church."  The  obvious  superficiality 
of  the  ordinary  results  is  just  what  should  be  expected.  Attempting 
to  make  observations  by  proxy  may  bring  in  interesting  returns,  how- 
ever, because  the  questions  themselves  elicit  fresh  reactions. 


THE  DATA  ASCERTAINED  47 

voluntary  turning  about,  means  anything  from  shaking 
hands  with  a  revivalist,  as  a  sign  of  religious  desire,  to 
the  profoundest  reversal  of  emotions  and  of  likes  and 
dislikes.  And  not  only  must  terms  be  interpreted 
by  the  investigator,  but  whole  situations  must  be 
reconstructed  by  him  from  given  fragments.  He 
must  allow  for  the  respondent's  probable  ignorance  of 
certain  factors;  for  bias  produced  by  training;  for  the 
influence  of  conditions  probably  present  but  not  proved 
to  be  so;  for  individual  peculiarities  gathered  by  the 
investigator  from  the  tone  of  the  whole  response.  Such 
interpretation  may  be  skilfully  done,  and  it  may  be  as 
worthy  of  confidence  as  similar  interpretations  made  by 
historians,  but  it  requires  the  greatest  caution  and 
balance,  and  in  the  end  its  results,  like  history,  lack 
exactness.1 

On  the  other  hand,  it  would  be  hasty  to  assume  that 
question  circulars  are  scientifically  useless.  A  large  part 
of  the  data  in  several  scientific  fields  is,  in  fact,  gathered 
by  question  lists  called  report  blanks.  Further,  there  is 
no  absolute  separation  between  questions  asked  of  a 
subject  in  a  laboratory  and  questions  asked  of  subjects 
under  other  conditions.  The  main  difference  is  in  the 
degree  of  our  knowledge  of  the  stimuli  actually  present. 
In  either  case  we  accept  more  or  less  of  the  subject's 
observation  of  himself.  It  should  be  remembered  also 
that  the  question  circular  need  not,  and  should  not,  be 

1  Starbuck  has  used  his  returns  with  caution  and  in  an  objective 
spirit.  He  has  avoided  the  worst  pitfalls  into  which  question-list 
researches  have  fallen.  Yet  his  numerical  tabulation  of  emotions, 
motives,  and  the  like  shows  nothing  more  than  general  drifts  present 
in  unknown  proportions. 


48  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

isolated  from  other  instruments  of  research.  Now  and 
then  details  can  be  run  down  by  personal  interviews  or 
experiment.1 

Question-circular  returns  are  effective  in  establishing 
at  least  three  types  of  generalization:  (i)  External 
situations  in  which  some  broadly  recognized  psychical 
event  takes  place.  Such  facts  as  age,  date,  and  social 
environment  can  often  be  ascertained  with  approximate 
accuracy.  Largely  through  this  method  one  great  gen- 
eralization of  this  type  has  been  established,  namely,  that 
there  is  a  causal  connection  between  religious  conver- 
sion of  the  emotional  type  and  the  physiological  change 
during  adolescence.  (2)  The  existence  of  contrasting 
types  within  a  specified  field.  This  certainly  is  a  valu- 
able psychological  service.  In  the  matter  of  prayer,  for 
example,  and  in  general  in  the  individual  realization  of 
God  in  a  high  form  of  religion  like  the  Christian,  there 
are  striking  differences  of  type.  Self-assertion  charac- 
terizes one  individual,  self-abnegation  another.  Some 
persons  have  a  mystical-emotional  realization  of  God, 
while  others  find  him  through  abundant,  free  activity. 
Further,  this  method  is  important  because  it  definitely 
establishes  the  existence  of  contrary  reactions  in  groups, 
such  as  religious  denominations,  that  may  seem  to  be 
homogeneous.  (3)  The  existence  of  a  tendency  or  drift 
within  a  group  may  be  ascertained,  even  though  the 
extent  or  depth  of  the  drift  may  remain  unknown. 
Thus,  a  question  that  I  once  asked  concerning  the  nature 
of  their  call  to  the  ministry  elicited  from  a  significant 
number  of  ministers  in  a  denomination  that  cultivates 
emotional  realizations  the  surprising  fact  that  their  call 

1  See  Coe,  Spiritual  Life,  chap.  iii. 


AI^J>m 


THE  DATA  ASCERTAIN)*  49 

contained  little  of  this  element,  but  much  of  prosaic, 
common-sense  procedure.1 

Data  for  the  psychology  of  religion  are  gathered,  in 
the  second  place,  by  scrutiny  of  literary  or  other  records 
of  religious  life.2  Here  fall  biographies  and  auto- 
biographies; scattered  passages  in  general  literature; 
sacred  literatures,  which  include  (often  in  mixture)  his- 
tory and  biography,  myth,  hymn,  prayer,  ritual,  and 
theological  or  metaphysical  thought  structures;3  finally, 
inscriptions,  pictures,  statues,  temple  architecture,  and 
the  like.4  Such  sources  for  what  men  tell  about  their 
religion  have  one  advantage  over  the  question  list, 
namely,  that  the  investigator  certainly  does  not  influence 
the  original  records.  They  have  been  produced  in  the 
ordinary  course  of  life  or  of  religion,  and  often  the 
absence  of  psychologizing  makes  them  psychologically 

1  To  judge  the  feasibility  of  a  given  question-circular  enterprise, 
the  following  questions  will  be  found  useful:  (i)  How  much  of  it  con- 
cerns matters  in  which  non-expert  testimony  is  likely  to  be  adequate  ? 
(2)  Does  it  formulate  answers,  or  does  it  merely  suggest  situations,  leav- 
ing the  respondent  to  formulate  his  response  ?  (3)  Does  it  offer  alter- 
native answers  or  classes  into  which  the  respondent  is  to  fit  himself? 
If  so,  are  the  alternatives  exhaustive  and  mutually  exclusive  ?  (4)  Is 
the  language  such  that  the  respondent  will  get  the  points  intended  by 
the  questioner?  (5)  What  is  the  point  of  the  whole  list?  If  trust- 
worthy responses  were  made  in  adequate  number,  how  would  our  knowl- 
edge be  advanced  ?  Is  this  knowledge  accessible  in  any  more  direct  or 
trustworthy  fashion? 

a  James's  The  Varieties  of  Religious  Experience  is  based  largely  upon 
autobiographic  records.  Another  specimen  is  Royce's  study  of  Bunyan 
in  Studies  in  Good  and  Evil.  A  more  extensive  research  based  on  this 
method  is  Delacroix's  Etudes  d'histoire  et  de  psychologic  du  mysticisme. 

s  Many  writers  have  dipped  into  the  records  of  the  ethnic  faiths, 
but  Stratton  in  his  Psychology  of  the  Religious  Life  bases  thereon  nearly 
the  whole  of  a  psychological  theory  of  religion. 

« An  example  is  Harrison's  Themis  (Cambridge,  1912). 


50  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

the  more  valuable.     Nevertheless,  there  are  difficulties 
that  must  not  be  ignored. 

1.  The  biographical  and  autobiographical  material 
that  is  available  is  triply  selected.    First,  the  individuals 
portrayed  are  selected  by  biographers  and  autobiogra- 
phers   upon  principles  that,  even  where  they  can  be 
ascertained,  have  little  relation  to  the  psychologist's 
interest.    Secondly,  the  material  that  is  recorded  in  each 
case  is  also  selected  from  a  larger  mass,  and  again  from 
motives   that  produce  no  psychological  classification. 
Thirdly,  the  psychologist  selects  the  writings  that  he 
will  analyze.     James  has  been  criticized,  for  example, 
for  selecting  too  large  a  proportion  of  extreme  and  even 
morbid  cases.    In  short,  this  material  is  valuable  chiefly 
because,   like   question-list  returns,   it  establishes   the 
existence,  in  unknown  proportions,  of  certain  types  of 
religious  experience.1 

2.  Sacred  literatures  offer  the  extraordinary  advan- 
tage of  being  religiously  motived,  so  that  they  present 
to  us,  as  it  were,  religion  itself  at  some  stage  of  its 
ongoing.     Nevertheless,  even  here  we  find  comparatively 
little  that  is  naively  religious.    Men  make  a  written 
record,  for  the  most  part,  because  they  have  become 
reflective  and  therefore  selectors.    Much  is  motived  by 
desire  to  explain,  reconcile,  or  systematize,  as  in  myth  and 
theology.     Some  of  the  records  are  made  in  the  interest  of 
a  cause,  an  idea,  or  a  party,  and  consequently  the  writer 
maintains  silence  concerning  shady  aspects  of  his  own 
religion,  but  gives  prominence  to  'such  aspects  of  his 

1  A.  R.  Burr,  in  Religious  Confessions  and  Confessants,  is  so  uncon- 
scious of  these  difficulties  as  to  suppose  that  a  ''definitive"  collection  of 
data  on  religious  experience  could  be  made  from  autobiographic  con- 
fessions. 


THE  DATA  ASCERTAINED  51 

opponent's  religion.  Ritual  formulae,  in  turn,  commonly 
give  words  to  be  said  rather  than  things  to  be  done, 
whereas  these  latter  are  essential  to  most  rites.  Prayers 
and  hymns,  on  the  other  hand,  sometimes  let  us  see  far 
into  the  religious  mind,  but  even  here  the  meaning  is 
likely  to  depend  upon  historical  conditions  that  are  not 
specified.  Indeed,  sacred  literatures  as  a  whole  arise 
and  grow  as  parts  of  a  historical  movement  which  they 
only  partly  reflect.  Different  historical  and  literary 
strata,  for  example,  are  often  present  in  an  Old  Testa- 
ment story.  As  a  consequence  of  all  this,  we  can  rarely 
make  sure  of  our  psychological  data  by  merely  reading  a 
piece  of  sacred  literature.  "Blessed  are  ye  poor/'  says 
Jesus  according  to  Luke ;  "  Blessed  are  the  poor  in  spirit," 
according  to  Matthew.  What,  then,  was  Jesus'  actual 
point  of  view?  It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  add  that 
many  of  these  difficulties  attach  themselves  to  the  study 
of  inscriptions  and  of  religious  art. 

In  the  third  place,  data  are  four^i  by  anthropological 
research,  chiefly  among  the  lowest  peoples,  but  in  part 
also  among  the  less  sophisticated  ways  of  culture-races. 
The  amount  of  material  now  in  print  that  bears  upon 
the  religion  of  savages  may  properly  be  called  immense. 
Much  of  it  has  the  peculiar  value  for  psychology  that 
it  enables  us  to  get  near  to  the  beginnings  of  religion.  In 
the  matter  of  origins,  definitely  ascertained  facts  are 
now  taking  the  place  of  speculation  or  of  inferences 
drawn  from  our  own  highly  developed  processes.  We 
are  on  the  way  toward  knowledge  of  the  evolution  of 
religion  that  will  be  comparable  to  our  knowledge  of  the 
evolution  of  man's  physical  organism.  That  the  road 
is  not  a  straight  and  broad  one,  however,  may  be 


52  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

gathered,  not  only  from  the  conflicts  and  rapid  changes 
of  theory  in  this  field,  but  also  from  the  following 
considerations: 

1.  Almost  every  fact  of  the  savage's  mentality  has 
to  be  interpreted.    He  can  directly  tell  us  about  it  far 
less  than  can  be  directly  told  by  question-list  respondents 
concerning  their  inner  life.    Further,  the  interpreter  is 
generally  not  the   fact-gatherer.     The   psychologist  is 
obliged  to  make  the  best  he  can  of  data  gathered  by 
other  persons  who  may  not  have  had  in  mind  his  own 
questions,  interests,  or  points  of  view. 

2.  Here,  as  in  other  evolutionary  studies,  a  Janus- 
faced  difficulty  is  almost  unavoidable.    At  our  end  of 
the  evolution  stand  highly  complex  processes  and  a  set 
of  preferences,  ideals,  or  valuations  that  we  call  higher 
as  distinguished  from  lower.    At  the  other  end  of  the 
scale  we  seek  for  minimal  complexity,  and  for  lower, 
instinctive  preferences,   both  process  and  preferences 
being  such  as  to  connect  man  with  the  animal  series. 
Evolution  implies  that  we  are  to  think  these  extremes 
as  somehow  one;  the  complex  must  be  seen  to  come  out 
of  the  simple,  the  high  values  out  of  the  low.    Conse- 
quently we  tend  to  overlook  contrasts.     We  do  it,  on 
the  one  hand,  by  oversimplifying  our  own  culture,  or  by 
forced  classification  of  the  higher  with  the  lower;  or,  on 
the  other  hand,  by  attributing  too  much  to  particular 
phenomena  of  the  savage  mind.     By  combining  the 
two — oversimplification  on  the  one  hand  and  overloading 
on  the  other — almost  every  item  of  savage  religion  has 
been  made  to  carry  the  religious  universe  on  its  back. 
The  gods  are  ghosts  of  dead  men;  the  gods  are  nature- 
powers  that  smite  the  attention;  the  gods  are  imagina- 


THE  DATA  ASCERTAINED  53 

tive  projections  of  some  social  unity.  The  psychical  root 
of  religion  is  fear;  the  root  is  the  experience  of  sex;  the 
root  is  the  economic  interest  of  some  group.  Totemism, 
magic,  sacrifice,  myth — each  has  loomed  overwhelmingly. 
The  movement  from  myth  to  theology,  from  spell  to 
prayer,  from  the  festivals  of  fertility-gods  to  Easter,  from 
mystery-initiations  to  baptism,  from  totemistic  eating  of 
the  god  to  the  eucharist,  from  taboo  to  Sunday  and 
other  sanctities,  from  the  instinctive  sense  of  tribal 
solidarity  to  the  ideal  of  a  kingdom  of  God,  from  spooks 
to  hope  of  heaven — this  movement,  this  mass  of  evolu- 
tionary ties  between  us  and  our  ancestors  easily  creates 
an  impression  that  our  religion  is  a  vestigial  phenomenon, 
a  remainder  from  savage  crudity,  whereas  religion  has 
evolved  away  from  as  well  as  out  of  savagery.  The 
nature  of  this  evolution  will  be  gone  into  at  some  length 
in  chap.  xiii.  Meanwhile,  we  may  well  remind  ourselves 
that  analysis  establishes  differences  as  well  as  similarities, 
and  that  the  differences  between  two  things  are  neither 
wiped  out  nor  explained  by  placing  them  in  the  same 
evolutionary  series.  Finally,  we  have  no  right  to  assume 
that  origins  are  in  the  past  alone.  Evolution  may  be 
original  at  every  step,  and  may  be  going  on  with  origi- 
nality in  our  own  experience.  We  ourselves  may  con- 
ceivably live  within  the  sources;  they  may  even  be 
pouring  themselves  forth  with  greater  freedom  than  in 
the  case  of  early  man.  For  these  reasons  one  may 
hesitate  to  follow  Wundt  in  his  conviction  that  an 
anthropological-genetic  account  of  religion  is  the  psy- 
chology of  religion. 

In    the    fourth    place,    data    may    be    ascertained 
by   experimental  methods.    An  indirect  experimental 


54  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

contribution  is  made,  of  course,  by  laboratory  studies  of 
part  processes  that  enter  into  religious  reactions,  such 
as  suggestion,  emotion,  and  belief-formation.  Theo- 
retically, integral  religious  experiences,  with  sincere  and 
complete  letting  go,  might  be  evoked  under  laboratory- 
control.  But  the  difficulties  are  obvious.  The  whole 
laboratory  spirit  of  aloofness  from  all  interests  except 
analysis  stands  in  the  way.  A  case  is  on  record  of  an 
experiment  in  which  the  subjects  read  or  listened  to 
religious  sentiments  under  controlled  conditions,  and 
then  wrote  introspective  records  of  the  results.  The 
upshot  of  the  experiment  concerns  rather  the  psychology 
of  language  and  of  edifying  discourse  in  general  than 
analysis  of  religious  experience.1  A  very  different  pro- 
cedure appears  in  another  report — a  study  of  the  ele- 
ments of  certain  services  of  common  worship.  By 
employing  the  order-of -merit  method,  which  has  already 
been  referred  to  in  the  Appendix  to  chap,  ii,  it  was 
found  possible  to  determine  the  relative  values  of  these 
elements  for  a  group  of  fifty  persons.2  The  order-of- 
merit  method  consists  fundamentally  in  this:  The  same 
set  of  items  is  placed  by  each  one  of  a  large  number  of 
persons  in  the  order,  "first,"  "second,"  "third,"  etc.,  on 
the  basis  simply  of  more  and  less  without  regard  to  how 
much.  Thus,  colors  or  pictures  may  be  arranged  in  an 
order  of  preference,  or  stories  may  be  arranged  on  the 
more  specific  basis  of  "more  or  less  humorous."  By 

IW.  Stahlin,  "Experimentelle  Untersuchung  iiber  Sprachpsycho- 
logie  und  Religionspsychologie,"  Archivfur  Religionspsychologie,  I  (1914), 
117-94. 

a  See  a  summarized  report  of  a  paper  read  by  Mark  A.  May  before 
the  New  York  Branch  of  the  American  Psychological  Association  in 
Journal  of  Philosophy,  XII  (1915),  691. 


THE  DATA  ASCERTAINED  55 

combining  these  judgments,  and  by  the  use  of  certain 
statistical  methods  of  analysis,  it  is  possible  to  construct 
a  scale  of  merit  for  the  items  concerned,  and  even  to 
establish  some  definite  quantitative  relations.  There 
appears  to  be  no  reason  why  this  method  may  not  be 
used  to  determine  value  relations  in  religion  for  far  larger 
groups  than  the  one  here  studied. 

There  is  a  place,  also,  for  the  field  use,  as  distin- 
guished from  the  laboratory  use,  of  experimental  meth- 
ods. In  the  religious  education  of  children,  in  the 
conduct  of  worship,  in  the  whole  plan  and  organization 
of  a  religious  society,  particular  factors  can  often  be 
identified,  sometimes  changed  at  will.  Many  a  rough- 
and-ready  experiment  in  religion  has  been  made  in  the 
interest  of  religion,  and  various  modes  of  control  have 
thus  evolved  in  religious  communions.  There  is  nothing 
to  prevent  the  deliberate,  scientifically  controlled  refining 
of  such  experiments.1 

A  final  caution  must  be  uttered  against  taking  the 
notion  of  method  too  narrowly.  If  one  should  ask,  for 
example,  how  Hoffding  ascertained  the  data  of  the  third 
division  of  his  Philosophy  of  Religion,  an  answer  could 
hardly  be  given  offhand.  He  makes  little  use  of  an- 
thropology, or  of  sacred  literatures,  or  of  religious  biog- 
raphies, or  of  question-list  returns;  yet  his  analysis  of 
the  religious  experience  is  among  the  most  noteworthy. 
The  reason  is  that,  though  he  adduces  few  new  data, 
he  sees  far  into  common  facts.  Now,  this  far-sight 
of  his  is  not  an  accident;  it  is  rather  the  ripe  fruit  of 

1 A  beginning  has  been  made,  for  example,  in  the  ascertainment  of 
the  reactions  of  children  to  common  worship.  See  H.  Hartshorne, 
Worship  in  the  Sunday  School  (New  York,  1913). 


56  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

long  experience  with  psychological  facts  and  problems. 
We  may  say,  then,  that  in  addition  to  the  digging  out 
of  fresh  material,  research  may  take  the  direction  of 
fresh  analysis  of  material  that  is  commonplace. 

APPENDIX 

GERMAN  VIEWS  OF  THE  "AMERIKANISCHE  RELIGIONSPSYCHOLOGIE" 

Two  American  productions  in  this  field,  Starbuck's  Psychology 
of  Religion  and  James's  The  Varieties  of  Religious  Experience,  have 
been  translated  into  German,  both  under  the  influence  of  interests 
that  center  in  theology.  Around  these  works  an  interesting  dis- 
cussion has  arisen  that  concerns  the  task  and  the  method  of  the 
psychology  of  religion.  Faber,  Das  Wesen  der  Religions  psychologic, 
gives  abundant  references  to  books  and  articles  on  the  subject, 
besides  contributing  an  extended  essay  of  his  own.  Various  Ger- 
man theologians  saw  in  the  two  works  just  referred  to  methods 
that  seemed  to  open  up  vast  possibilities  of  increase  in  scientific 
knowledge  of  religion.  In  addition,  they  found  support  for  theo- 
logical or  transcendental  presuppositions  in  this  branch  of  psy- 
chology, and  some  of  them  attempted  to  fuse  psychology  and  what 
may  be  called  metaphysical  theology.  On  the  other  hand,  there 
have  come,  partly  from  theologians  also,  sharp  criticisms  of  the 
methods  of  the  two  American  writers  just  named,  and  strenuous 
opposition  to  theologized  psychology.  In  his  Probleme,  Part  IV, 
Wundt  regards  James's  book  as  not  psychology  but  an  extract 
from  a  pragmatic  philosophy  of  religion. 

In  this  German  discussion  the  phrase  "the  American  psy- 
chology of  religion"  has  sprung  up.  It  is  used,  as  far  as  I  have 
discovered,  in  a  very  narrow  way,  and  I  regard  it  as  misleading. 
It  is  used  narrowly  because  it  takes  works  published  from  1899 
to  1902  as  sufficiently  typical.  It  is  misleading  because,  first,  it 
ignores  the  fact  that  the  methodological  faults  hi  these  earlier 
works  were  promptly  pointed  out  in  this  country  and  have  not 
been  repeated,  and,  secondly,  it  ignores  the  great  distance  in 
methods  and  results  between  the  two  authors  already  named  and 
Ames,  King,  Stratton,  and  Leuba  I  shall  go  into  no  critique  of 


THE  DATA  ASCERTAINED  57 

the  special  methods  of  these  writers,  but  instead  I  refer  the  reader 
to  review  articles  listed  in  the  Alphabetical  Author  List  under 
their  respective  names. 

One  general  word,  however,  should  be  said.  American  writings 
on  the  psychology  of  religion  have,  as  a  whole,  a  common  charac- 
teristic with  respect  to  method.  In  one  form  or  another,  with 
few  exceptions,  they  assume  that  psychological  analysis  applies  to 
function  as  well  as  to  structure.  They  conceive  their  task  as 
analysis  of  a  certain  phase  of  the  struggle  to  live.  They  ask  how 
this  struggle  gives  rise  to  religion,  and  what  religion  contributes 
to  the  struggle.  Here  is  an  attempt  at  a  dynamic  view.  It  tends 
to  make  the  psychology  of  religion  talk  about  life  in  concrete  terms 
like  those  of  ordinary  conversation.  If,  as  a  consequence,  Starbuck 
uses  religious  terms  where  we  should  like  to  have  him  use  those  of 
psychology,  and  if  James  offers  the  testimony  of  individuals  as  a 
finality  where  we  think  further  analysis  is  possible,  these  are  not 
essentials  of  method,  but  instances  of  failure  to  use  it  adequately. 
The  notion  of  function  in  the  valuational  sense  is  still  a  new  one  in 
scientific  psychology,  and  it  is  in  process  of  development.  I  have 
already  expressed  a  conviction,  not  only  that  it  is  an  inevitable 
point  of  view  (among  others),  but  also  that  it  cannot  reach  its  own 
full  development  as  a  psychological  concept  without  presupposing 
the  personal  selves  that  are  implied  in  conversation  and  in  friend- 
ship. This  is  not  equivalent  to  admitting  a  transcendental 
principle  into  empirical  science.  It  is  at  most  an  extension  of 
empirical  inquiry  with  respect  to  human  desire  and  motive,  and 
to  what  men  mean  by  their  will-acts. 

Wundt's  magnificent  contribution  to  the  psychology  of  early 
mythological  and  religious  ideas  comes  to  us  associated  with  cer- 
tain positive  conceptions  of  method  and  point  of  view.  The  final 
source  of  religion  for  him,  as  for  most  American  writers,  is  man's 
appreciation  of  what  helps  and  hinders  in  the  struggle  to  live. 
The  psychical  spring  of  the  whole  mythological  complex  is  no 
Why  ?  or  How  ?  but  some  immediate  relation  to  man's  weal  and 
woe.  But,  the  circle  of  mythological  notions  having  once  been 
formed  by  the  common  mind,  we  have  therein,  it  appears,  the 
whole  psychological  explanation  of  religion.  At  least  Wundt  is 
sure  that  the  psychology  of  religion  must  be  genetic,  and  that 


58  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

genetic  psychology  is  the  psychology  of  early  man.  Thus,  if  I 
correctly  apprehend  Wundt's  position,  man's  first-developed  func- 
tions are  somehow  more  explanatory  than  his  later  ones,  and  a 
group  mind  can  be  a  source  of  religion  in  a  sense  in  which  an 
individual  mind  cannot.  It  is  not  clear  to  me  why,  upon  Wundt's 
own  principles,  this  must  be  so.  There  seems  to  be  no  ground 
whatever  for  the  assumption  that  early  steps  in  an  evolution  are 
explanatory  in  a  sense  in  which  later  steps  are  not.  Nor  do  I  see 
any  evidence  for,  but  a  great  deal  of  evidence  against,  the  notion 
that  the  struggle  to  live  merely  repeats  itself  upon  the  same  plane. 
In  other  words,  while  Wundt  adopts  a  functional  point  of  view 
for  the  first  crude  impulses  that  express  themselves  in  mythology, 
and  there  arrests  his  use  of  functional  method,  there  is  need  that 
the  method  should  be  applied  through  the  entire  evolution  of 
religion,  and  to  the  experiences  of  individuals  as  well  as  to  the 
thought  forms  of  early  groups. 


CHAPTER  IV 

PRELIMINARY  ANALYSIS  OF  RELIGIOUS 
CONSCIOUSNESS 

What,  then,  should  we  understand  by  religion? 
The  fate  of  definitions  of  religion  does  not  invite  to 
the  making  of  new  ones.  If  by  definition  is  meant  the 
formulation  of  an  inclusive  major  premise  from  which 
to  deduce  the  particular  qualities  of  a  class,  then, 
in  our  case,  there  is  no  motive  for  defining.  Psychology 
does  not  demonstrate  what  must  be,  but  only  opens 
our  eyes  to  see  what  is.  What  we  need  at  the  outset 
is  not  so  much  an  inclusive  idea  as  a  fruitful  point  of 
view.  Any  point  of  view  is  fruitful  to  the  extent  that 
it  stimulates  us  to  see  and  to  seek  facts,  evermore  facts.1 

Without  more  ado,  let  it  be  said  that  experience  can 
teach  some  definite  lessons  as  to  the  relative  value  of 
several  points  of  view.  Relatively  unfruitful,  first  of 
all,  is  the  defining  of  religion  by  reference  to  a  certain 
content  of  belief,  as:  "Religion  is  belief  in  God/7  or 
"  belief  in  God,  and  the  acts  that  follow  therefrom." 
The  reasons  for  this  unfruitfulness  are  briefly  these: 
(i)  The  fluid  character  of  the  content  of  religious  belief. 
Personal  and  impersonal  gods,  good  and  evil  gods, 
spirits  of  many  sorts,  heroes  and  demigods,  bulls,  snakes, 
earth,  sun,  mana  (simply  a  diffused  power  that  does  the 

1  This  seeing  and  seeking  includes,  as  a  matter  of  course,  the  organiz- 
ing of  facts  into  systems.  One  who  does  not  classify  and  relate  misses 
the  facts  themselves. 

59 


60  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

great  things),  "nature" — which  of  these  marks  off  reli- 
gion ?  Somewhere  each  is  believed  in,  somewhere  each 
is  involved  in  men's  religious  acts.  (2)  The  existence  of  a 
religion  (Buddhism)  the  theology  of  which  refuses  to 
assert  the  existence  of  gods  or  of  spirits.  It  is  not  cor- 
rect to  say  that  Buddhism  is  a  religion  without  god- 
beliefs,  for  the  mass  of  Buddhists  have  gods  a-plenty. 
But  the  thinkers  of  this  faith,  from  Gautama  onward, 
are  consciously  free  from  such  belief.  (3)  The  incor- 
rectness of  the  intellectualist  psychology  that  has 
assumed  that  religious  ideas  are  self-sustaining  logical 
entities.  These  ideas  are  sustained  by  something  that 
makes  them  interesting  or  important — by  impulses  and 
emotional  attitudes.  Religion  is  not  a  product  of  intel- 
lectual leisure,  but  of  the  grind  of  existence — a  grind 
that  ever  seeks  to  transform  itself  into  freedom  and  joy. 
We  shall  have  scant  appreciation  of  beliefs  themselves 
until  we  ask  what  makes  them  germinate  and  grow. 

Relatively  unfruitful,  likewise,  are  definitions  of 
religion  that  reduce  it  to  feeling.  They  move  down- 
ward, it  is  true,  from  beliefs  toward  impulses.  For  this 
reason  Schleiermacher's  famous  formula,  "  Religion  is  a 
feeling  of  absolute  dependence,"  has  been  immensely 
vivifying  to  a  theology  whose  traditions  had  been  intel- 
lectualistic.  Nevertheless,  a  general  conviction  has  been 
reached  that  religion  cannot  be  reduced  to  a  single 
phase  of  mental  life — the  entire  mind  is  involved.  Not 
only  so,  but  the  religious  feelings  themselves  demand  to 
be  understood  by  reference  to  the  situations  in  which  they 
arise  and  the  part  they  play  in  the  total  adjustment  process. 

Seeing  that  religion  concerns  the  whole  man,  some 
theologians  would  define  it  substantially  as  follows: 


ANALYSIS  OF  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS       61 

Religion  is  the  total  reaction  of  the  mind  to  what  it 
conceives  as  superior  powers  upon  which  its  good  de- 
pends. This  formula  deserves  careful  analysis.  The 
idea  of  ends,  values,  adjustment,  is  at  last  admitted  to 
the  definition.  Nevertheless,  no  desire,  no  function,  no 
good,  is  specified  so  as  to  be  identifiable.  Religious 
reactions  are  to  be  discriminated  from  others  by  "what 
the  mind  conceives  as  superior  powers. "  Now,  this  is 
simply  an  improved  way  of  saying  that  a  certain  con- 
tent of  belief  is  the  differentia.  If  anyone  doubts  that 
this  is  a  fair  interpretation,  let  him  ask  whether  or  not 
"superior"  is  here  used  in  a  general  or  a  specific  sense. 
Does  it  apply,  for  instance,  to  a  superior  army  on  which 
the  good  of  an  inferior  one  depends?  Clearly,  a  par- 
ticular kind  of  superiority  has  been  singled  out  but  not 
defined,  and  belief  in  beings  of  this  kind  is  made  the 
criterion  of  religion.  Therefore  the  difficulties  of  all 
intellectualist  types  of  definition  are  present  here  also. 
And  a  still  further  difficulty  is  present.  The  concept  of 
religiously  superior  powers  must  have  been  achieved  by 
a  process  of  some  kind.  Must  not  this  process  have 
been  a  religious  one  ?  Men  think  because  they  have  a 
motive  for  thinking,  because  some  interest  spurs  them 
on.  It  is  because  a  religious  interest  is  already  present 
that  men  achieve  the  notion  of  religiously  "superior 
powers."1  The  point  of  view  will  be  more  fruitful,  then, 
if  we  include  this  interest. 

1Wundt,  after  arguing  with  power  that  affective  states  are  the 
moving  spring  of  the  myth,  and  that  early  man  is  interested  above  all 
things  in  the  means  for  carry  ing  on  the  struggle  to  live  (My  thus  und 
Religion,  2.  Aufl.,  I,  62),  nevertheless  maintains  that  religion,  "in  the 
only  true  sense  of  the  word,"  is  bom  with  the  rise  of  the  god-idea  (Ele- 
mente  der  Volker  psychologic,  p.  369). 


62  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

There  is  no  occasion  for  quarrels  over  formal  defini- 
tions. The  most  that  a  formal  definition  can  do,  in  any 
case,  is  not  to  convey  knowledge,  but  to  assist  in  the 
organization  of  knowledge.  Each  of  a  dozen  definitions 
of  religion  might  conceivably  be  justified  on  such  ground. 
Our  present  problem,  accordingly,  is  not  to  say  what  all 
men  ought  to  mean  when  they  use  the  term  "  religion, " 
but  rather  to  indicate  the  direction  of  attention  or  the 
organizing  idea  that  is  at  present  most  useful  in  the 
psychology  of  religion.  The  present  work  represents  a 
conviction  that  a  dynamic  or  functional  point  of  view 
/  is  the  one  that  is  actually  yielding  the  most  fruit.1 
Accordingly,  our  immediate  aim  is  to  give  a  preliminary 
description  of  religious  consciousness  in  terms  of  value. 
What  this  requires  can  be  made  clear  by  a  word  of  com- 
ment upon  two  recent,  carefully  constructed  definitions, 
both  of  which  employ  the  concept  of  value,  but  find 
the  differentia  of  religion  elsewhere.  W.  K.  Wright 
says  that  religion  is  "the  endeavor  to  secure  the  con- 
servation of  socially  recognized  values  through  specific 
actions  that  are  believed  to  evoke  some  agency  different 
from  the  ordinary  ego  of  the  individual,  or  from  other 

1  Even  Royce,  whose  interest  is  more  philosophical  than  psycho- 
logical, explains  his  conception  of  religion  thus:  "The  idea  that  man 
needs  salvation  depends,  in  fact,  upon  two  simpler  ideas  whereof  the 
main  idea  is  constituted.  The  first  is  the  idea  that  there  is  some  end 
or  aim  of  human  life  which  is  more  important  than  all  other  aims,  so 
that,  by  comparison  with  this  aim,  all  else  is  secondary  and  subsidiary, 
and  perhaps  relatively  unimportant,  or  even  vain  and  empty.  The 
other  idea  is  this:  That  man  as  he  now  is,  or  as  he  naturally  is,  is  in 
great  danger  of  so  missing  this  highest  aim  as  to  render  his  whole  life  a 
senseless  failure  by  virtue  of  thus  coming  short  of  his  true  goal." — The 
Sources  of  Religious  Insight  (New  York,  1912),  p.  12.  For  a  recent 
example  of  attempts  to  define  religion  by  a  single  phase  of  it,  see  W.  D. 
Wallis,  "Fear  in  Religion,"  Journal  of  Religious  Psychology,  V,  257-304. 


ANALYSIS  OF  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS        63 

merely  human  beings,  and  that  imply  a  feeling  of 
dependence  upon  this  agency."1  Here  the  values  in- 
volved in  religious  consciousness  are  limited  to  those 
that  dre  already  socially  recognized.  What,  then,  shall 
we  call  the  experience  in  which  a  prophet,  dissenting 
from  socially  recognized  values,  makes  appeal  to  what 
he  regards  as  a  higher  standard  ?  Reconstruction  of  life's 
ends  is  in  this  case  central  in  a  movement  that  no  one 
would  hesitate  to  call  religious.  A  second  characteristic 
of  Wright's  definition  is  that  the  differentia  of  religion 
is  found  in  the  means  whereby  certain  ends  are  sought, 
not  in  the  ends  themselves.  With  this  Leuba  is  in  agree- 
ment. "It  is  not  the  needs  which  are  distinctive  of 
religion,  but  the  method  whereby  they  are  gratified,"2 
he  says.  The  method  that  he  has  in  mind  reminds  one 
of  certain  theological  definitions  that  have  already  had 
our  consideration.  "  Religion,"  says  Leuba,  "is  that  part 
of  human  experience  in  which  man  feels  himself  in  rela- 
tion with  powers  of  psychic  nature,  usually  personal 
powers,  and  makes  use  of  them."3  Here  the  divine 
beings  of  religion  appear  as  mere  means  to  ends,  the 
ends  being  completely  determined,  it  appears,  without 
reference  to  the  gods.  Both  in  what  it  says  and  in  what 
it  assumes  this  definition  requires  scrutiny.  We  are 
within  the  horizon  of  functional  psychology;  let  us  see 
just  where. 

1  "A  Psychological  Definition  of  Religion,"  American  Journal  of 
Theology,  XVI  (1912),  385-409. 

2  A  Psychological  Study  of  Religion,  p.  8. 

3  Ibid.,  p.  52.     To  get  the  full  significance  of  this  statement  of 
Leuba's,  the  whole  of  Part  I  should  be  read.    In  an  Appendix  he 
has  arranged  an  array  of  definitions,  intellectualistic,  affectivistic,  and 
voluntaristic. 


64  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

In  the  first  place,  to  say  that  A  is  used  as  a  means 
to  B  assumes  that  a  valuation  has  occurred;  certain 
things  have  been  judged  to  be  important.  In  the  defini- 
tion now  before  us,  where  and  by  whom  has  this  valuation 
been  made?  The  category  of  means  and  end  can  be 
used  in  either  of  two  ways — the  reference  may  be  to  a 
valuation  already  made  by  others,  or  to  a  valuation  now 
offered  by  the  author  of  the  definition.  In  the  one  case 
we  have  a  descriptive  definition,  in  the  other  a  normative 
one.  That  Leuba's  definition  is  normative  rather  than 
descriptive  may  be  asserted,  not  only  on  the  ground  of 
his  general  view  that  the  psychology  of  religion  is 
normative  for  both  religious  belief  and  religious  practice, 
but  also  on  the  specific  ground  that,  historically  con- 
sidered, religion  has  not,  either  uniformly  or  as  a  whole, 
given  to  its  gods  the  alleged  position  of  mere  means 
subordinate  to  certain  ends.  Descriptively  taken,  ends 
are  just  what,  from  the  reactor's  own  point  of  view,  is 
felt  and  judged  to  be  most  important.  Now,  in  the 
religious  consciousness  of  mankind  in  general,  so  far 
are  the  gods  from  uniformly  taking  a  secondary  place 
that  they  appear,  not  seldom,  as  supreme  judges  and 
correctors  of  men's  purposes,  and  even  of  the  desires  of 
the  heart.  In  the  progressive  religions,  particularly,  we 
behold  men  adjusting  their  ends  to  what  they  conceive 
to  be  the  divine  will  or  the  divine  nature.  Nay,  the  god 
himself  becomes  in  various  cases  an  end  consciously 
sought — the  devotee  desires  to  help  his  god,  or  the  god 
is  enjoyed  and  loved  in  the  same  objective  way  in  which 
one  member  of  a  family  relates  himself  to  another.1  No 

1  "The  gods  stood  as  much  in  need  of  then*  worshipers  as  the  wor- 
shipers in  need  of  them."— J.  G.  Frazer,  Magic  Art  and  Evolution  of 
Kings,  I  (London,  1911),  31. 


* 

ANALYSIS  OF  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS       65 

doubt  the  mind  of  man  constructs  the  idea  of  gods  in 
accordance  with  the  general  laws  of  ideation;  no  doubt 
the  will  of  the  god  is  an  idealization  of  man's  human 
social  experience,  but  herein  men  feel  that  they  face 
ends,  finalities,  not  mere  means.  If  my  own  conviction 
should  be  that,  in  reality,  divine  beings  do  not  exist, 
and  that  what  men  regard  as  their  own  ends  are 
not  really  controlling  in  human  conduct,  and  that 
the  only  good  of  all  these  god-ideas  and  all  these  self- 
devotions  is  to  promote  ends  fully  definable  without 
reference  to  the  divine — if  this  were  my  conviction,  it 
would  be  my  valuation  of  religion,  and  not  a  descrip- 
tive definition  of  religious  consciousness  or  of  religious 
function.1 

We  already  see  that  religious  consciousness  often 
involves,  sometimes  supremely  is,  a  consciousness  of 
ends  or  values.  This  fact  suggests  a  possible  point  of 
view  for  the  study  of  religion  as  a  whole.  Possibly  the 
chief  thing  in  religion,  considered  functionally,  is  the 
progressive  discovery  and  reorganization  of  values. 
Possibly  the  central  function  of  religion  concerns  ends 
rather  than  means.  Without  doubt  "  chief "  and  "  cen- 
tral" as  here  used  imply  valuation,  or  an  interest  of  a 
particular  kind.  Let  us  change  our  phraseology,  then, 
and  say  that  possibly  it  will  be  interesting  to  see  how 
and  how  far  the  phenomena  commonly  called  "religious" 

1  Leuba's  procedure  has  an  extraordinary  likeness  to  that  of  tradi- 
tional theology.  Both  argue  as  if  definitions  were  mental  reproductions 
of  realia  instead  of  being  merely  useful  points  of  view  for  the  organiza- 
tion of  facts.  Both,  therefore,  define  religious  experience  from  the  stand- 
point of  a  present  valuation  of  it,  rather  than  from  the  standpoint 
of  the  experience  itself.  Both,  as  a  consequence,  attempt  to  control 
religion  by  means  of  a  definition. 


66  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

can  be  organized  among  themselves  and  related  to  other 
phenomena  from  the  voluntarily  assumed  standpoint  of 
value. 

Leuba's  definition  presupposes  that  men  have  needs, 
and  apparently  that  these  needs  are  a  constant,  while 
the  means  used  to  supply  them  are  variable.  Viewed 
from  the  evolving  standpoints  of  the  evolving  human 
mind,  however,  needs  evolve,  values  are  discovered,  and 
man  comes  thus  gradually  to  himself  and  not  merely  to 
fresh  means  for  static  ends.  Examples  of  this  evolution 
of  values  that  we  have  already  drawn  from  the  parental 
and  the  sexual  instinct  may  now  be  used  as  the  starting- 
point  for  a  more  general  study  of  human  desires.  A 
little  reflection  will  justify  five  propositions  which,  taken 
together,  may  serve  to  introduce  the  method  of  approach 
in  which  the  present  work  is  interested. 

First,  human  desire  is  not  extinguished  when  its 
immediate  satisfaction  is  attained.  This  is  plain  enough 
in  the  case  of  our  higher  values.  Knowledge,  once 
attained,  does  not  dampen  but  inflames  the  desire  for 
knowledge.  The  acquisition  of  money  rarely  fails  to 
restimulate  and  intensify  the  processes  of  acquisition. 
Even  in  our  directly  instinctive  desires  a  parallel  over- 
flow occurs.  Our  so-called  ''bestial"  excesses  are  hardly 
bestial,  for  the  way  of  a  beast  is  to  satisfy  his  appetite 
and  then  stop,  whereas  the  way  of  a  man  is  to  extend 
his  appetite.  And  appetite,  as  we  have  seen,  does  not 
always  move  upon  a  single  level  statically  fixed,  but 
rather  grows  refined,  and  sometimes  becomes  the  servi- 
tor of  ideal  ends.  Note,  for  example,  how  a  single  term, 
"love,"  is  used  for  all  grades  of  reaction,  from  merely 
instinctive  sex  attraction  to  the  most  deliberate  self- 


ANALYSIS  OF  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS        67 

devotion  in  which  the  original  biological  connotation  has 
completely  disappeared. 

Secondly,  human  desires  undergo  a  process  of  organi- 
zation toward  the  unity  of  the  individual.  The  way  of 
human  desiring  is  to  take  account  of  wants.  Thereby  we 
objectify  our  desires,  compare  them,  and  arrange  them 
in  scales  more  or  less  refined.  Thereby  we  attain  to 
character  in  the  sense  not  merely  of  being  different  each 
from  every  other,  but  also  of  being  functionally  more 
than  any  desire  or  any  set  of  desires. 

Thirdly,  human  desires  come  thus  to  include  a  desire 
to  have  desires.  The  desires  of  the  lower  animals  become 
organized  after  a  fashion.  Rats  and  mice  learn  not  to 
touch  the  tempting  morsel  that  the  trap  displays.  A 
frog  that  is  making  for  shore  stops — " freezes" — if  a 
bass  approaches.  Here  is  a  kind  of  regulation  of  desire. 
Men  as  well  as  other  species  are  molded  in  this  stern 
manner.  But  men  mold  themselves.  They  form  desires, 
not  merely  to  have  this  or  that  object,  but  also  to  be 
this  or  that  kind  of  man.1  Here  lies  the  deeper  meaning 
of  education.  It  is  socially  organized  desire  that  certain 
desires  rather  than  others  should  control  human  life.2 

Fourthly,  human  desires  undergo  a  process  of 
organization  toward  social  as  well  as  individual  unity. 
Education  considered  as  socially  organized  desire  is 
only  one  instance.  That  the  individual  is  not  a  mere 

1  For  a  clear  exposition  of  this  fact  see  A.  O.  Lovejoy,  "The  Desires 
of  the  Self-Conscious,"  Journal  of  Philosophy,  IV  (1907),  29-39. 

aThorndike  thus  defines  the  aims  of  education:  "To  make  men 
want  the  right  things  and  to  make  them  better  able  so  to  control  the 
forces  of  nature  and  themselves  that  they  can  satisfy  these  wants.  We 
have  to  make  use  of  nature,  to  co-operate  with  each  other,  and  to 
improve  ourselves." — Education  (New  York,  1912),  p.  n. 


68  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

individual,  but  that  individuality  itself  has  a  social  refer- 
ence, is  now  a  commonplace  of  genetic  psychology. 

Fifthly,  human  desire,  growing  by  what  it  feeds  on, 
refining  itself,  judging  itself,  organizing  itself,  becomes 
also  desire  for  the  conservation  of  the  human  desire- 
and-satisfaction  type  of  experience.  Education,  for 
example,  has  already  come  to  involve  enormous  expendi- 
ture for  ends  that  are  to  be  realized  only  gradually  after 
the  death  of  those  who  pay  the  cost.  National  con- 
sciousness in  general  endows  the  future  with  present 
value.  We  shall  not  fully  understand  the  passion  of  the 
patriot  until  we  see  within  the  economic  causation  of 
national  conduct  a  desire  that  economic  values  shall  be 
assured  to  future  generations,  and,  within  loyalty  to  a 
people's  culture  or  institutions,  the  identification  of 
present  interests  with  history  yet  to  be  made.  The 
larger  thought,  too,  of  a  world-destiny,  or  even  of  cosmic 
meaning,  involves  a  present  desire  that  desire-and- 
satisfaction  as  we  know  it  may  never  end.  Thus  we 
desire  to  endow  our  values  with  the  added  value  of 
time-defiance. 

•sL,  What  name  have  we  for  this  whole  desire-within- 
desire,  this  whole  revaluation  of  values  that  both  makes 
us  individuals  and  organizes  us  into  society?  In  each 
phase  of  life  a  part  of  the  process  appears.  We  revalue 
the  seeing  of  the  eye  and  the  hearing  of  the  ear,  and 
aesthetic  values  emerge,  art  is  born.  We  reflect  upon 
what  we  want  when  man  meets  man,  and  moral  values 
emerge  as  a-  control  even  of  the  instincts  out  of  which 
they  arise.  So,  also,  out  of  relatively  thoughtless  think- 
ing there  springs  a  search  for  norms  of  thought  and  for  a 
self-evidencing  or  rational  standpoint.  Here,  then,  are 


ANALYSIS  OF  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS       69 

three  points  at  which  desire  has  organized  itself  by 
reference  to  ideal  values — aesthetic  values,  ethical  values, 
and  noetic  values.  That  this  is  a  characteristic  human 
process  probably  no  one  will  deny.  But,  if  so,  we  should 
expect  to  find  at  least  beginnings  of  the  revaluation  of 
life  as  a  whole.  We  should  look  for  historical  foci  at 
which  men's  sense  of  the  value  of  life  becomes  something 
like  a  whole  reaction.1  That  is,  the  law  of  revaluation 
should  sooner  or  later  reveal  itself  as  a  desired  ideal,  as  a 
willed  reaction  creating  instruments  for  itself  and  having 
a  history. 

It  is  no  new  thing  to  say  that  what  men  call  religion 
is,  at  its  focal  points,  a  reaction,  solemn  or  joyous,  in 
which  the  individual  or  the  group  concentrates  attention 
upon  something  so  important  that  it  is,  for  the  con- 
sciousness of  the  moment,  life  itself.  Early  religion 
reflects  the  felt  crises  of  early  life,  as  hunger  and  war, 
and  particularly  these  crises  as  organizing  points  for  the 
life  of  a  group.  National  religion,  again,  represents  the 
nationally  felt  interests,  such  as  a  race  conflict,  a  political 
struggle,  an  economic  anxiety,  a  social  self-criticism. 
And  a  parallel  use  of  the  term  religion  is  common  among 
us.  Wherever  men  intensely  identify  themselves  with 
something  as  their  very  life,  there  you  will  almost  cer- 
tainly find  "religion"  the  descriptive  term.  At  first 
sight  one  might  wonder  why  there  should  be  such  dogged 
clinging  to  a  term.  Why  does  one  encounter  a  "  religion" 
of  beauty,  a  " religion"  of  science,  a  " religion"  of  duty, 
a  "religion"  of  social  enthusiasm,  each  of  which  has 

1  As  Leuba  says,  what  religion  aims  at  is  life  in  its  greatest  possible 
fulness.  This  ideal  fulness,  however,  is  not  exactly  a  sum  of  particular 
satisfactions. 


70  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

shaken  off  the  forms  of  all  historical  religions  ?  Is  not 
this  a  sign  that  all  values  press  for  organization  into 
wholeness  of  life,  and  that  this  is  just  what  religion  has 
been  about  from  the  beginning  P1 

Any  reaction  may  then  be  considered  as  religious  to 
the  extent  that  it  seeks  "life"  in  the  sense  of  completion, 
unification,  and  conservation  of  values — any  values 
whatever.  (Religion  does  not  introduce  any  new  value; 
it  is  an  operation  upon  or  within  all  our  appreciations. 
If  we  are  to  speak  of  religious  value  at  all,  we  should 
think  of  it  as  the  value  of  values,  that  is,  the  value  of 
life  organizing  and  completing  itself,  or  seeking  a  destiny, 
as  against  the  discrete  values  of  impulsive  or  unreflective 
existence.2  The  "new  life"  that  is  so  prominent  at 
different  levels  of  religion  gets  its  material  from  the  life 
that  now  is.  Tribal  initiations  introduce  the  youth  to  a 
"new  life"  that  is  new  to  him  as  an  individual,  but  not 
to  the  tribe.  Similarly,  Christian  regeneration  simply 
enthrones  such  domestic  qualities  as  love.  Heaven  is  a 
projection  of  joys  known  on  earth,  and  hell  merely 
focuses  earthly  woes.  Even  communion  with  God  is  an 
extension  of  love  and  friendship  as  they  are  experienced 
among  men.3 

1  Economic  values — "his  money  is  his  god" — and  even  direct  sense 
satisfactions — "whose  god  is  their  belly" — are  not  excluded  from  the 
general  proposition  that  values  tend  toward  organization  as  "life." 
Here  again  the  already  existing  use  of  religious  terminology  is  psycho- 
logically significant. 

2  It  would  be  scarcely  an  exaggeration  to  say  that  any  kind  of 
strong  excitement  is  sure  to  appear  somewhere  as  religion.    There  is  a 
grain  of  psychological  truth  in  the  assertion  of  some  romanticists  that 
any  utterly  absorbing  passion  is  per  se  sacred. 

3  In  the  Zend-Avesta,  Zarathustra  asks  Ahura  Mazda,  "O  Maker 
of  the  material  world,  thou  Holy  One!   which  is  the  first  place  where 


ANALYSIS  OF  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS        71 

Two  recent  definitions  of  religion  approximate  this 
point  of  view.  Hoff ding's  "  axiom  of  religion,"  namely, 
"the  conservation  of  value,"  has  attained  a  celebrity 
that  is  deserved,  for  it  is,  if  I  mistake  not,  the  first  in- 
stance of  a  definition  of  religion  constructed  wholly  from 
the  conception  of  values.  Yet  "conservation"  is  only 
one  phase  of  the  desire-within-desire  upon  which  we 
have  now  fixed  our  attention.  The  overflow  that  is 
religion  is  not  merely  more  of  the  same,  but  also  an 
immanent  criticism  whereby  what  would  otherwise  be 
merely  a  serial  order  of  desires  and  satisfactions  is 
organized  into  the  unity  of  personal  and  social  lives,  so 
that  they,  and  they  only,  in  the  end,  have  value. 

Strictly  functional,  also,  is  the  definition  of  Ames: 
"Religion  is  the  consciousness  of  the  highest  social 
values."1  Here  values  are  the  differentia  of  religion, 
not  (as  with  Wright  and  Leuba)  merely  the  genus. 

the  earth  feels  most  happy?"  When  this  question  is  answered,  Zara- 
thustra  asks,  "Which  is  the  second  place  where  the  earth  feels  most 
happy  ?  "  and  so  on  to  the  fifth.  Ahura  Mazda  answers  that  the  places 
where  the  earth  feels  most  happy  are:  (i)  the  spot  on  which  one  of  the 
faithful  steps  when  he  offers  sacrifice  to  the  lord  of  the  wide  pastures; 
(2)  the  place  whereon  one  of  the  faithful  erects  a  house  with  a  priest 
within,  with  cattle,  a  wife,  children,  and  good  herds  within,  and  where 
all  the  blessings  of  life  thrive;  (3)  where  one  of  the  faithful  cultivates 
most  corn,  grass,  and  fruit;  where  he  waters  the  ground  that  is  dry,  or 
dries  the  ground  that  is  too  wet;  (4)  where  there  is  the  most  increase  of 
flocks  and  herds;  (5)  where  flocks  and  herds  yield  most  dung.  See 
Sacred  Books  of  the  East,  IV  (Oxford,  1880),  22-24. 

This  is  an  early  description  of  religious  values.  They  are  here 
arranged  in  a  hierarchical  order — the  god  (cultus  or  religious  value), 
the  family  (social-ethical  value),  the  occupation  (economic  value). 
Further,  ethical  value  is  made  to  include  the  economic,  and  religious 
value  to  include  the  ethical  (note  the  position  of  the  sacrifice  and  of 
the  priest). 

1  Psychology  of  Religious  Experience)  Preface. 


72  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

Further,  values  are  not  taken  discretely,  but  they  are 
conceived  as  in  process  of  organization.  Exactly  why 
religion  is  here  limited  to  social  values,  and  specifically 
to  the  highest  of  such  values,  however,  is  not  quite  clear. 
Is  not  a  man  religious  who  is  desperately  seeking  to 
save  his  own  soul,  or  when  he  enjoys  purely  private 
ecstasy  of  communion?  Or,  to  state  the  matter  in 
another  way,  is  not  such  an  experience  functionally 
continuous  with  experiences  in  which  salvation  is  con- 
ceived socially?  Further,  how  does  Ames  differentiate 
religious  consciousness  from  social  consciousness  as  such  ? 
If  "highest"  be  given  a  specific  content  (so  that  we 
could  say,  for  example,  that  a  man  is  not  religious  until 
he  accepts  this  or  that  social  standard),  the  definition  is 
obviously  too  narrow;  but  if  " highest"  refers,  not  to  a 
specific  set  of  standards,  but  to  a  law  of  social  valuation 
in  accordance  with  which  men  criticize  and  reconstruct 
their  standards,  then  Ames's  point  of  view  is  to  this 
extent  (but  not  further)  identical  with  the  one  here 
suggested.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  in  the  body  of  Ames's 
book,  " highest  social  values"  appear  again  and  again 
to  deliquesce  into  the  social  as  such. 

To  propose,  as  I  have  done,  that  we  think  of  religion 
as  an  immanent  movement  within  our  valuations,  a 
movement  that  does  not  terminate  in  any  single  set  of 
thought  contents,  or  in  any  set  of  particular  values, 
may  easily  seem  to  make  religion  elusive  if  not  vague. 
But  the  difficulty  is  with  the  thing  itself,  not  with  the 
proposed  point  of  view.  That  religion  is  in  fact  the  most 
puzzlingly  elusive  phase  of  experience  is  fairly  deducible 
from  the  history  of  thought  about  religion.  And  we 
can  convince  ourselves  of  the  fact  likewise  by  direct 


ANALYSIS  OF  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS        73 

inspection  of  current  phenomena.  How,  for  example, 
would  one  describe  the  attitude  expressed  in  the  following 

poem? 

WAITING 

Serene,  I  fold  my  hands  and  wait, 
Nor  care  for  wind,  or  tide,  or  sea; 

I  rave  no  more  'gainst  Time  or  Fate, 
For  lo!  my  own  shall  come  to  me. 

I  stay  my  haste,  I  make  delays, 
For  what  avails  this  eager  pace  ? 

I  stand  amid  the  eternal  ways, 

And  what  is  mine  shall  know  my  face. 

Asleep,  awake,  by  night  or  day, 

The  friends  I  seek  are  seeking  me; 

No  wind  can  drive  my  bark  astray, 
Nor  change  the  tide  of  destiny. 

What  matter  if  I  stand  alone  ? 

I  wait  with  joy  the  coming  years; 
My  heart  shall  reap  where  it  hath  sown, 

And  garner  up  its  fruit  of  tears. 

The  waters  know  their  own,  and  draw 
The  brook  that  springs  in  yonder  heights; 

So  flows  the  good  with  equal  law 
Unto  the  soul  of  pure  delights. 

The  stars  come  nightly  to  the  sky; 

The  tidal  wave  unto  the  sea; 
Nor  time,  nor  space,  nor  deep,  nor  high, 
Can  keep  my  own  away  from  me. 

— John  Burroughs,  in  The  Light  of  Day 
(Boston,  1900). 

That  the  attitude  here  is  religious  seems  obvious;  but 
just  what  is  the  attitude,  and  what  is  the  relation  of  it 
to  knowledge  on  the  one  hand  and  to  the  complex  of  one's 


74  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

specific  purposes  and  activities  on  the  other  ?  Whatever 
we  call  it,  we  have  here  within  one's  particular  valua- 
tions an  immanent  critique  which  is  also  a  movement 
toward  completeness,  unity,  and  permanence  of  the  value 
experience  as  a  whole.1 

If  the  question  be  asked  wherein,  then,  religious  value 
is  distinct  from  ethical  value,  the  answer  is  that  it  is 
not  distinct  from  ethical  or  any  other  value.  When 
ethical  value  attempts  its  own  ideal  completion  in  union 
with  all  other  values  similarly  ideal  and  complete,  what 
we  have  is  religion  in  the  sense  in  which  the  term  is  here 
used.  The  sphere  of  religion,  as  of  ethics,  is  individual- 
social  life.  In  this  life  religion  refers  to  the  same  persons, 
the  same  purposes,  the  same  conditioning  facts,  as  ethics. 
In  most  ethical  thinking,  however,  a  difference  is  recog- 
nized. For  ethics  commonly  limits  its  attention  to  cer- 

1  The  present  European  war  furnishes  excellent  illustrations  of  the 
intensification  and  unification  of  the  valuational  phase  of  consciousness. 
One  single  interest  tends  strongly  to  overshadow  and  even  swallow  up 
all  others  in  each  of  the  warring  groups.  Each  individual  mind  becomes 
organized,  and  all  the  individuals  of  a  nation  become  thoroughly  focused 
at  a  single  point.  There  is  now  only  one  thing  that  counts,  and  it  must 
be — this  is  the  spirit.  And  behold,  it  is  conscious  of  itself  as  religious! 
From  Germany,  from  France,  from  England,  from  Canada,  comes  news 
of  extraordinary  ethical  elevation  and  religious  tone.  The  French  flock 
to  their  neglected  churches.  There  are  revival  outbursts  in  the  trenches, 
and  the  soldiers  either  have  visions  or  else  are  ready  to  believe  that 
others  have  had  them.  Ministers  are  confident  that  a  new  era  for  faith 
is  dawning. 

Let  us  attempt  an  analysis  of  this  movement  of  the  mass  mind. 
In  the  first  place,  this  is  not  a  response  to  new  evidence  (in  the  logical 
sense)  for  the  old  religion.  The  new  convincingness  of  "things  unseen" 
lies  altogether  in  the  emotion-producing  qualities  of  the  new  situation. 
In  the  second  place,  the  recognized  religiousness  of  the  emotions  pro- 
duced in  each  of  the  national  situations  obviously  depends  upon  inten- 
sification and  unification  of  desire  and  action,  and  not  upon  the  particular 


ANALYSIS  OF  RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS        75 

tain  values  only,  whereas  religion  is  interested  in  all 
values,  in  the  whole  meaning  of  life)  Even  within  the 
sphere  of  social  values  this  distinction  between  a  nar- 
rower and  a  wider  horizon  is  commonly  made;  for 
ethics,  as  ordinarily  understood,  limits  itself  to  the 
visible  life  of  men,  while  religion  goes  on  to  raise  the 
question  of  extending  social  relationships  to  the  dead 
and  to  divine  beings.  But  we  must  not  imagine  that 
naming  a  horse  is  the  same  as  putting  a  bit  into  his 
mouth.  If,  becoming  restive  under  the  phrase  "mere 
ethics, "  one  insists  upon  making  ethical  ideals  a  norm 
for  the  whole  of  experience,  what  happens  is  the  very 
effort  at  completion,  unification,  and  conservation  of 
values  to  which  the  name  religion  is  here  given. 

qualities  of  the  things  desired.  The  German  consciousness  and  the 
English  consciousness  are  religious  in  exactly  the  same  sense.  Each 
is  certain  that  God  is  on  its  side,  and  that  the  enemy  is  moved  by  base 
motives.  On  each  side  there  are  such  ethical  phenomena  as  sense  of 
obligation,  postponement  of  self-regard,  submission  to  discipline,  self- 
sacrifice,  and  the  glow  of  a  good  conscience.  Each  side  is  sustained  and 
calmed  in  the  horrible  welter  by  trust  in  the  God  of  might  and  of  justice. 
In  the  third  place  (I  anticipate  principles  that  will  be  discussed  in  later 
chapters),  the  idea  of  God  is  here  in  process  of  derivation  from  the  form 
and  the  interests  of  the  social  organization.  A  newspaper  writer  has 
remarked  with  entire  justice  that  monotheism  is  inappropriate  and 
inconvenient  for  nations  that  are  fighting  for  nationalism.  It  will  be 
found,  I  think,  that  only  to  the  extent  that  people  are  able  to  criticize 
the  acts  and  purposes  of  their  own  nation  from  the  standpoint  of  world- 
welfare  is  there  any  vital  monotheism  at  all.  That  is,  just  as  the  intensity 
of  faith  reflects  the  intensity  and  unification  of  values,  so  the  breadth  of 
faith  reflects  the  breadth  of  social  outlook  and  self-criticism.  On  the 
other  hand,  it  is  not  improbable  that  the  idea  of  one  only  God,  which  is 
already  held  in  a  somewhat  wavering  fashion,  will  assist  in  organizing  a 
world-society. 


CHAPTER  V 
RACIAL  BEGINNINGS  IN  RELIGION 

Not  only  is  it  difficult  to  find  out  just  what  the  lower 
races  do  in  the  way  of  religion,  and  why  they  do  it;  it 
is  difficult  for  us  who  are  not  anthropologists  to  under- 
stand the  findings  of  anthropology.  '  In  the  present 
chapter  we  must  make  an  effort  to  reverse  many  of  our 
customary  notions  of  how  men  act,  and  think,  and  feel. 
Thus: 

i.  If  you  ask  me  in  what  sense  I  am  religious,  you 
throw  me  back  upon  myself  as  an  individual.  I  say, 
"  Whatever  life  may  mean  to  others,  to  me  it  means  so 
and  so."  If,  now,  we  imagine  that  such  personal  realiza- 
tions are  the  first  things  in  religion,  and  that  the  earliest 
religious  group  or  community  is  an  aggregate  of  such  in- 
dividuals, we  reverse  the  facts.  The  religious  individual 
is  a  late  and  high  development  out  of  the  religious  group.1 
How  a  group  as  such  can  be  religious  we  can  see,  however, 
by  recalling  our  own  experiences  as  members  of  crowds— 
a  college  class,  a  political  meeting,  or  an  audience  at  a 
concert.  Under  such  conditions  it  is  perfectly  natural 
for  us  to  feel  and  act  and  even  think  in  ways  that  are 
impossible  to  us  in  private. 

1  Not  until  the  national-religious  consciousness  of  Israel  had  been 
battered  down  by  other  nations  did  the  notion  of  a  direct  personal 
relation  to  Jahwe  take  firm  root.  Ezekiel,  chap.  28,  transfers  the 
notion  of  guilt  and  innocence  from  nation  or  family  lineage  to  the 
individual. 

76 


RACIAL  BEGINNINGS  IN  RELIGION  77 

2.  The  early  group  was  not  a  merely  impulsive  mass, 
like  a  mob.1    It  had  definite,  complicated,  and  rigidly 
enforced  ways  called  customs.     Custom  is  "the  way 
we  do."    It  is  orally  transmitted  from  one  generation 
to  another,  largely  in  initiation  ceremonies  that  induct 
adolescent  boys  into  the  life  of  mature  men.    Custom 
is  enforced  upon  any  possibly  recalcitrant  individual, 
not  only  by  social  scorns  and  disabilities,  but  also  by 
terrible  fears  of  unseen  beings.    Now,  early  religion  is  a 
body  of  customs,   a  group  possession,  in  which  the 
individual  shares  "of  course"  rather  than  by  personal 
conviction.    He  raises  no  questions,  he  sees  no  need  of 
an  inner  life. 

3.  The  interests  of  the  group  are  narrow,  and  they 
include  only  a  minimum  of  what  we  mean  among  our- 
selves  by    "intellectual   interest."     The    things    that 
occupy  early  man  are  food-getting,  marriage,  birth, 
sickness,  death,  initiation,  war,  protection  from  beasts 
and  from  the  weather.     These  are  the  interests  that 
underlie  the  beginnings  of  religious  as  well  as  other 
customs.    Causal  inferences  as  such,  wonder  at  nature, 
and  effort  to  think  consistently  are  far  less  in  evidence. 

1  Strictly  "primitive  man"  is  a  more  or  less  speculative  entity. 
Even  if  we  take  as  primitive  the  Congo  pygmies  and  similar  types 
(W.  Wundt,  Elemente  der  Volker  psychologic  [Leipzig,  1913],  pp.  12-22), 
it  does  not  follow  that  their  ways  will  yield  the  greatest  possible  illumina- 
tion as  to  the  beginnings  of  religion.  Not  until  the  evolution  has  pro- 
ceeded an  appreciable  distance  are  the  data  present  for  denning  the 
problem  of  origins.  The  study  of  beginnings  is  a  study  of  something 
that  has  begun.  In  the  present  chapter  "early  group"  implies  a  stage  of 
culture  in  which  religion  is,  so  to  say,  just  articulate — it  utters  itself 
in  ways  sufficiently  stable  and  sufficiently  institutional  to  enable  us, 
looking  both  backward  and  forward,  to  discern  the  direction  of  the 
mental  movement. 


78  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

Such  intellectual  life  as  exists  is,  indeed,  closely  con- 
nected with  religious  rites  and  ceremonies,  but  it  con- 
sists for  the  most  part  of  crude  picture- thinking,  which 
is  the  direct,  unreflective  product  of  emotions  primarily 
connected  with  the  interests  already  named. 

4.  Life  is  not  departmentalized  as  with  us.    Religion, 
morality,  and  law  are  as  yet  an  undivided  mass.    Totem- 
ism,  for  example,  is  at  once  a  form  of  tribal  organi- 
zation  with   various    laws,    consequently   a    body   of 
prescriptions  for  individual  conduct,  and  finally  a  kind 
of  religion. 

5.  The  whole  is  to  be  thought  of  as  instinct  action 
passing  up  through  group  consciousness  (custom)  toward 
personal  experience  and  reflection.     Basal  to  all  that 
men  do  is  instinct  action;  it  does  not  express  an  ante- 
cedent idea,  but  under  the  stimulus  of  accompanying 
pleasures  and  pains  it  gives  rise  to  discrimination  and 
so  to  ideas  as  patterns  for  future  conduct.    Action  is 
definitely  adjusted  before  ideas  become  definite.     Fur- 
ther, the  first  programs  of  action  are  those  in  which  the 
instinctive  impulses  of  an  individual  are  restrained  and 
organized,  not  by  his  own  reflection,  but  by  the  direct 
pressure  of  the  group  upon  him.    No  doubt  the  variant 
individual,  the  relatively  great  man,  has  always  influ- 
enced others  to  a  special  degree,  but  in  earliest  society 
he  and  they  are  alike  caught  up  in  the  common  move- 
ment of  the  group. 

We  are  now  ready  to  note  the  phenomena  of  early 
tribal  life  to  which  we  may  ascribe  religious  significance. 
Let  us  begin  with  what  is  most  external  and  obvious, 
reserving  for  the  next  chapter  a  further  word  as  to  the 
inner  significance  of  the  whole. 


RACIAL  BEGINNINGS  IN  RELIGION  79 

1.  The  tribe  or  clan  has  a  formal  ritual  or  certain 
ceremonies  connected  with  the  food  supply,  and  intended 
to  help  in  securing  it.    Typical  of  such  ceremonies  are 
mimetic  "dances"  representing  the  animal  or  plant  from 
which  food  is  obtained.    Often  an  animal  mask  is  worn, 
or  a  skin,  or  antlers.    Various  objects  connected,  or  sup- 
posed to  be  connected,  with  the  source  of  food  are  em- 
ployed, as  meal,  water,  snakes  (e.g.,  the  Moki  snake 
dance),  or  the  whole  or  a  part  of  a  food  animal.    The 
ceremony  is  likely  to  include  a  feast  in  which  the  food 
animal  is  devoured.    The  obvious  inutility  of  such  acts 
tempts  us  to  think  of  them  as  "mere  ceremonies"  or 
as  merely  dramatic  performances.    This  temptation  is 
strengthened  when  we  discover  that  the  performers  are 
commonly  unable  to  give  a  coherent  reason  for  what  they 
do.     To  a  considerable  extent  the  original  reason  has 
been  forgotten.    Nevertheless,  sufficient  traces  of  ancient 
meanings  remain  in  the  mythical  tales  connected  with 
the  ceremonies,  and  particularly  in  the  acts  performed, 
the  instruments  used,  the  time  of  the  year,  etc.,  to 
enable  us  to  judge  with  certainty  that  these  food  cere- 
monies were  originally  intended  as  participation  in  the 
actual  work  of  food-getting — rain-making,  for  example. 
The  type  of  thinking  here  involved  will  presently  be 
described  under  the  head  of  "Magic." 

2.  There  are  ceremonies,  largely  mimetic,  connected 
with  war,  as  the  "ghost  dance"  of  certain  American 
Indians.    These  ceremonies  are  originally  an  attempted 
manipulation  of  the  forces  upon  which  victory  is  sup- 
posed to  depend. 

3.  Adolescent  boys  are  initiated  into  the  tribal  se- 
crets and  customs,  and  sometimes  girls  are  introduced 


8o  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

to  adulthood,  with  elaborate  and  solemn  rites.  In  the 
case  of  the  girls  the  reference  is  to  prospective  marriage. 
With  the  boys  the  reference  is  to  such  functions  as  the 
chase,  war,  and  the  men's  secret  society,  with  its  tradi- 
tionary lore  and  its  methods  of  governing  the  tribe.  The 
initiation  rites  are  sometimes  prolonged  and  intricate. 
Commonly  the  boy  is  subjected  to  tests,  which  really 
constitute  training,  of  his  courage  and  of  his  ability  to 
endure  pain.  Inspirations  in  the  form  of  dreams  or 
visions  are  sometimes  sought  and  obtained. 

4.  There  are  rites  connected  with  marriage,  birth,  and 
broadly  with  sex.    Sex  consciousness  is,  in  fact,  promi- 
nent in  religion  even  up  to  some  of  its  highly  developed 
forms.    The  spring  festival  referred  at  once  to  the  rebirth 
of  vegetation,  the  yeaning  of  animals  (note  the  promi- 
nence of  the  bull,  the  ram,  etc.),  and  to  human  reproduc- 
tion (hence  phallic  symbols,  and  even  sexual  license). 

5.  A  certain  member  of  the  group,  the  medicine  man 
or  shaman   (equivalent    terms),  has  particularly  close 
relation  to  all  these  affairs.    He  is  a  specialist  in  things 
religious,  the  predecessor  of  priesthoods.    He  goes  into 
trances,  has  visions,  is  a  soothsayer,  foretells  events, 
detects  criminals,  prepares  charms  and  amulets,  expels 
the  demons  from  sick  bodies,  uses  suggestion  and  hyp- 
nosis upon  both  himself  and  others.     He  is  largely  a 
trickster,  but  a  half-believing  one,  nevertheless,  because 
of  the  elements  in  his  practice,  chiefly  suggestion  and 
self -hypnosis,  that  he  does  not  control  by  trickery. 

Coming,  now,  to  closer  quarters  with  these  phe- 
nomena, we  note  that  at  one  point  or  another  they 
represent  both  the  social  organization  and  current  ideas 
as  to  how  the  important  values  of  life  are  secured. 


RACIAL  BEGINNINGS  IN  RELIGION  81 

i.  Totemism. — Each  clan  is  designated  by  the  name 
of  some  object,  usually  an  animal,  sometimes  a  plant. 
One  clan  is  the  Eagles,  another  the  Kangaroos,  and  so 
on.  The  Eagles  are  blood-relatives  of  all  eagles  by  virtue 
of  descent  from  a  common  ancestral  eagle  about  whom 
imaginative  tales  (myths)  gather.  An  Eagle  will  not 
ordinarily  kill  an  eagle.  Even  if  the  totem  animal  is 
good  for  food,  his  life  is  sacred,  except  that  it  may  be 
taken  (but  with  apologies)  in  emergencies,  and  except, 
also,  that  he  is  eaten  at  ceremonial  feasts  of  the  clan. 
Now,  this  eating  of  a  totem  animal  is  not  mere  eating 
as  we  think  it;  rather,  the  savage  believes  that  he 
thus  absorbs  something  of  the  strength,  or  courage, 
or  cunning  of  the  species.  Nay,  more;  not  only  is 
the  totem  animal,  as  we  have  seen,  a  sacred  animal, 
but  by  partaking  of  it  one  arrives  at  the  very- 
source  of  power  and  is  united  with  it.  The  feast  is  a 
sacrament. 

2.JManci. — The  totem  animal  has  its  power  or  cun- 
ning, and  it  is  sacred  because  it  has  mana  (which  has 
various  names  among  different  tribes,  as  orenda,  wakonda, 
etc.) .  Men  eat  the  totem  animal  in  order  to  obtain  mana. 
A  large  endowment  of  mana  is  what  gives  the  medicine 
man  his  skill.  The  successful  hunter  or  warrior  succeeds 
because  he  has  mana;  the  unsuccessful  one  lacks  it.  The 
spirits  all  have  it.  This  is  what  mana  is.  It  is,  so  to 
say,  the  source  of  what  is  important.  It  is  not  defined 
to  thought  as  either  personal  or  impersonal,  for  the 
distinction  between  personal  and  impersonal  has  not  yet 
begun  to  be  clear.  Yet  the  idea  of  mana  has  been 
hastily  interpreted  as  "high  gods  of  low  peoples"  and 
even  as  an  aboriginal  monotheism. 


82  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

3.  Taboo. — We  have  seen  that  the  totem  animal  must 
not  be  killed  like  other  animals,  or  subjected  to  ordinary 
uses;  he  is  taboo.  A  person  who  violates  this  taboo 
becomes  himself  taboo ;  he,  in  turn,  must  not  be  touched 
until  ceremonies  (such  as  lustrations)  for  removing  the 
taint  have  been  performed.  From  the  totem  animal  taboo 
develops  outward  in  various  directions.  Articles  con- 
nected with  the  sacred  meal  or  with  the  tribal  initiation; 
the  spot  where  the  solemn  ceremony  of  initiaton  is  per- 
formed; the  time  of  its  performance;  the  name  of  the 
totem;  the  person  of  the  chief  and  his  property — all 
these  have  been  taboo  in  one  place  or  another.  The 
priestly  code  of  the  Old  Testament,  with  its  minute 
prescriptions  concerning  the  " clean"  and  the  " unclean," 
and  concerning  the  "holy"  things  that  must  not  be 
touched,  together  with  the  avoidance  of  the  use  of  the 
name  Jahwe,  illustrates  taboo  in  a  highly  developed 
form.  " Clean"  and  "holy"  have  here  a  sense  far  dif- 
ferent from  our  ordinary  usage.  To  early  thought  both 
the  powerfully  good  and  the  mysteriously  evil  are  taboo. 
The  dead  body  of  a  man  is  held  in  especial  horror — it  is 
taboo.  A  woman  is  taboo  at  childbirth.  These  prohibi- 
tions and  many  like  them  are  enforced  by  fear.  Who- 
ever violates  one  of  them  delivers  himself  over  thereby 
to  evil  powers  that  may  work  him  all  manner  of  harm. 
The  idea  here  is  not  infection  in  our  medical  sense,  but 
rather  a  putting  of  one's  self  under  the  influence  of  hostile 
powers  not  clearly  denned. 

4.  Magic. — Among  low  types  of  savages  magic  is 
omnipresent.  To  see  what  it  is,  let  us  examine  some 
instances.  For  example,  women  are  found  wearing  in 
their  hair  combs  upon  which  are  inscribed  symbolic 


RACIAL  BEGINNINGS  IN  RELIGION  83 

marks  for  keeping  away  the  diseases  that  the  wearer 
fears.  A  hunter,  similarly,  scratches  upon  his  weapon 
some  mark,  such  as  an  animal  figure,  to  insure  su^ess. 
To  produce  a  shower,  water  is  sprinkled  or  a  gourd  rattle 
is  sounded.  To  injure  an  enemy,  one  makes  an  image  of 
him  and  pricks  or  burns  it,  or  one  obtains  some  of  his 
hair  or  finger-nail  parings  and  treats  them  in  a  similar 

„ manner.  Three  ideas  are  here  commonly  assumed :  that 
a  part  separated  from  the  whole  (as  nail  parings,  or  even 
one's  name)  still  influences  the  whole  (sympathetic 
magic);  that  imitating  anything,  which  is  possibly 
thought  of  as  manipulating  an  actual  part  of  it,  tends 
to  bring  the  action  itself  to  pass  (imitative  magic) ;  and 
that  spirits  (demons  in  the  broad  sense,  not  merely  evil 
beings)  can  be  induced  or  compelled  to  work  for  men  to 
produce  either  good  or  evil.  That  we  are  here  within 
the  atmosphere  of  mana  also  is  clear  from  the  fact  that 
the  medicine  man,  who  is  such  by  virtue  of  his  peculiar 
possession  of  mana,  is  chief  magician. 

Y-  5.  Spiritism. — We  have  just  seen  that  magic  is 
largely  a  commerce  with  spirits.  But  we  must  now 
notice  that  " sympathetic "  and  "imitative"  magic 
existed  before  the  notion  of  spirits  had  become  definite. 
Animism,  in  the  sense  of  belief  in  a  soul  separable  from 
the  body  and  therefore  able  to  survive  bodily  death,  was 
achieved  only  through  considerable  reflection,  which 
may  have  required  a  long  period  of  time.  Probably  the 
first  interpretation  of  death  did  not  regard  it  as  ending 
what  we  have  come  to  call  life,  but  only  as  modifying  it. 
The  dead  man  was  the  same  sort  of  object  that  he  was 
before,  but  with  circumscribed  powers.  Even  when  the 
body  decayed,  something  of  the  man  hovered  around 


84  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

the  spot.  Indeed,  to  prevent  so  feared  a  being  from 
wandering  about,  the  body  was  sometimes  fastened  in 
its  place,  a  stake  being  driven  through  it  into  the  ground, 
or  a  pile  of  stones  being  laid  upon  it.  But  various  ex- 
periences— men  seen  in  dreams  and  hallucinations,  for 
example — led  to  the  notion  that  a  man  has  a  "second" 
that  can  wander  abroad.  At  death,  of  course,  it  takes  its 
final  departure  from  the  body,  and  thenceforth  leads  the 
life  of  a  spirit  or  demon  in  the  full  sense  of  the  word. 
When  this  belief  has  been  reached,  magic  becomes  to  a 
considerable  extent  spiritism  in  practical  operation,  that 
is,  the  influencing  of  events  by  first  influencing  or  con- 
trolling spirits  that  have  power  over  events.  Magical 
processes  mediate  both  good  (so-called  white  magic) 
and  evil  (black  magic).  Commonly,  however,  magic 
comes  under  the  ban,  or  at  least  disapproval,  of  society 
as  something  dark  and  dangerous.  It  becomes  a  secret 
practice,  employable  by  individuals,  in  contrast  with 
the  ceremony  of  the  tribal  or  established  religion.  When 
one  people  conquers  another,  the  gods  of  the  conquered 
are  likely  to  live  on  as  the  arch-spirits  of  magic.  Medi- 
aeval witchcraft,  which  was  transplanted  to  the  American 
colonies,  had  its  roots  in  the  pagan  religions  that  Chris- 
tianity supplanted.  This  particular  magic  became  a 
" diabolical"  counterpart  of  Christianity.  There  was  a 
supreme  evil  divinity,  with  angelic  subordinates  and 
with  sacraments  and  festivals;  and  there  was  supposed 
to  be  an  obedient  society  of  men,  its  members  signed 
and  sealed,  to  correspond  with  the  church. 

6.  The  myth. — Broadly  considered,  the  myth  is  simply 
the  thought  aspect  of  any  well-established  practice  of  the 
sort  now  outlined.  Mythology  is  picture-thinking,  a 


RACIAL  BEGINNINGS  IN  RELIGION  85 

mass  of  stories,  of  which  we  have  a  living  specimen  in 
our  own  Santa  Claus  tales.  These  stories  are  authorless, 
being  the  common  product,  as  they  are  the  common 
possession,  of  the  group;  howbeit,  quicker  minds  must 
have  contributed  more  than  slower  minds  to  the  struc- 
ture. Myths  are  at  first  believed,  just  as  children  believe 
in  Santa  Claus.  In  some  cases  the  retelling  of  the  myth 
is  a  part  of  a  solemn  ceremony,  and  then  the  tale  itself 
is  supposed  to  have  potency  with  respect  to  the  beings 
that  it  tells  about.  What  occasions  give  rise  to  myths, 
and  what  determines  their  content  ?  So  much  of  my- 
thology concerns  the  sun  and  the  other  celestial  bodies 
that  one  recent  theory  would  have  it  that  mythology  as 
a  whole  is  man's  early  interpretation  of  the  prominent 
or  striking  phenomena  of  the  sky.  Again,  it  has  been 
thought  that,  finding  himself  using  certain  names  and 
titles  having  original  reference  to  animals,  he  invented 
tales  to  fit  the  names.  It  is  as  if  we  should  explain  the 
fact  that  a  certain  white  man  is  called  Mr.  Black  by 
imagining  a  black  ancestor  who  transformed  his  skin  to 
white.  Finally,  it  is  held  that  the  myth  is  the  intel- 
lectual expression  of  the  ceremony,  often  an  attempt  to 
account  for  it.  Whereas  the  ceremony  was  once  re- 
garded by  some  students  as  a  dramatic  representation 
of  an  antecedent  myth,  a  later  view  is  that,  finding 
themselves  performing  a  customary  rite,  men  gave  a 
quasi-rational  color  to  their  acts  by  gradually  elaborat- 
ing a  myth  or  a  set  of  myths. 

The  matter  is  complicated,  but  all  in  all  the  last  is 
the  general  direction  in  which  we  find  the  richest  results. 
The  decisive  facts,  it  appears,  are  these:  (a)  Comparison 
of  the  content  of  many  of  a  people's  myths  with  the 


86  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

content  of  its  ceremonies  makes  clear  that  the  two  are 
most  intimately  related,  (b)  But  the  ceremony  origi- 
nated in  an  attempt  to  repeat  some  supposedly  effective 
part  of  an  early  utility  act,  such  as  hunting,  fishing,  or 
planting  and  reaping,  (c)  With  early  men,  as  with  us, 
habitual  social  activities  that  have  a  strong  emotional 
accompaniment  tend  to  become  a  ritual  which  sur- 
vives its  first  occasion,  and  persists  even  after  its  original 
significance  is  forgotten .  Under  such  conditions  imagina- 
tion and  reflection  produce  reasons  for  the  act.  After- 
thoughts which  suppose  themselves  to  be  forethoughts 
are  common  at  all  stages  of  culture.  For  example,  the 
ordinary  notions  as  to  why  human  beings  wear  clothes 
are  almost  parallel  to  mythology.  A  still  better  example 
is  the  reason  for  the  Sabbath  given  in  one  of  the  creation 
stories — we  rest  on  the  seventh  day  because  God  did  so 
when  he  created  the  world.  Here  the  custom,  already 
existing,  gives  rise  to  a  fanciful  causal  account  of  it. 
(d)  But  the  myth  is  not  held  down  to  its  original  function 
or  occasion — it  grows  with  growing  interests  and  with 
growing  insights.  For  example,  the  Greek  spring  festival, 
originally  intended  to  promote  fertility,  gathers  a  con- 
siderable part  of  its  thought  content  about  the  snake, 
which  is  supposed  to  fertilize  the  earth.  But  the  snake 
does  not  end  here;  it  lives  on  in  wider  reaches  of  thought 
as  a  phallic  object,  as  sacred  to  Asklepios  the  healer,  and 
in  close  relation  even  to  Hermes  and  Zeus.1  Here  solar 
mythology  appears  thoroughly  fused  with  fertility 
mythology,  which,  in  turn,  springs  out  of  festivals  in 
which  men  originally  believed  that  they  were  practically 
assisting  the  processes  of  reproduction  and  growth. 
1  Harrison,  Themis,  chap.  viii. 


RACIAL  BEGINNINGS  IN  RELIGION  87 

(e)  Finally,  with  increasing  culture,  the  myth  yields  up 
its  supposed  literal  truth,  and  becomes  a  foundation  for 
drama,  poetry,  and  a  reasoned  theology. 

7.  Fetishism. — A  fetish  is  an  inanimate  object,  known 
to  be  such,  but  supposed  to  be  the  abode,  for  the  time 
being  at  least,  of  a  spirit,  or  at  least  of  some  sort  of 
superior  potency  that  makes  it  of  special  value  to  its 
possessor.  Doubtless  the  earliest  fetishes  were  simply 
natural  objects  of  such  unusual  form  as  to  awaken  as- 
tonishment, or  so  related  to  one's  pleasure  and  pain 
as  to  awaken  unusual  emotion.  Later,  appropriate 
objects  are  made  into  fetishes  by  the  medicine  man  or 
" witch  doctor" — that  is,  he  selects  or  compounds  the 
object  and  causes  a  spirit  or  potency  to  enter  it.  The 
possessor  is  likely  to  carry  it  upon  his  person  to  insure 
good  luck.  If  it  does  not  work,  it  may  receive  a  scolding 
or  a  beating,  and  ultimately  it  may  be  thrown  away  and 
a  new  fetish  procured.  This  description  applies  particu- 
larly to  Africa.1  Fetishism  is  perhaps  not  so  much  a 
stage  in  the  general  development  of  religion  as  a  fungous 
or  degenerate  growth.  It  is  magic  in  its  lowest  form, 
which  involves  also  spiritism  in  its  lowest  form.  It  is  f 
arbitrary,  individualistic,  often  anti-social. 

We  are  at  last  ready  to  attempt  a  functional  charac- 
terization of  early  religion.  Our  fundamental  questions 
are,  What  types  of  value-consciousness  prevailed  ?  and 
What  measures  were  taken  to  complete,  unify,  and  con- 
serve the  values  that  were  recognized?  As  to  the 
recognized  values,  we  shall  come  near  to  the  whole 
truth  if  we  think  in  each  case  of  a  small  group  of  men 
(horde,  clan,  tribe)  struggling  to  maintain  and  perpetuate 

1  R.  H.  Nassau,  Fetishism  in  West  Africa  (New  York,  1904). 


88  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

itself  as  a  group,  and  therefore  absorbed  in  co-operative 
food-getting,  in  co-operative  protection  from  beasts, 
weather,  and  human  enemies,  and  in  the  strict  regula- 
tion of  a  few  social  relations  (as  marriage),  all  of  which 
is  thought  of  as  dependent  in  part  upon  a  mysterious, 
diffused  power  (mana)  and  in  part  upon  more  specific 
beings  of  demonic,  yet  human,  type.  The  measures 
taken,  over  and  above  what  we  count  as  industry  (hunt- 
ing, herding,  agriculture),  are  the  ceremonies  and  fes- 
tivals already  described.  Through  these  ceremonies 
tribal  man  looks  for  abundant  food,  success  against 
enemies  of  all  kinds,  and  maintenance  of  the  social  order. 
To  complete  their  values,  men  here  seek  plenty;  to  con-  / 
serve  them,  men  seek  to  produce  a  stable  social  order  that/ 
shall  be  continuously  in  favorable  touch  with  the  powers 
upon  which  food  and  other  goods  depend;  to  unify 
values,  the  measure  is  again  a  social  one,  namely,  the 
production  in  the  individual  of  willing,  or  rather  auto- 
matic, subordination  of  desires  to  social  standards  (cus- 
toms), which  in  turn  the  group  shares  with  a  larger  social 
or  quasi-social  order  (the  totem  species,  mana,  spirits  of 
ancestors).  Belief  in  mana  is  one  important  root  of  the 
distinct  god-belief  that  later  appears.  The  totemic  com- 
mon meal  will  give  place  to  sacrifice  and  a  merely 
symbolic  eating  of  the  god.  The  ceremony  will  become 
worship.  The  social  order  that  supports  the  ceremony 
will  broaden  into  nation,  church,  humanity.  The  social 
ideal  will  grow  refined  and  humane,  and  its  scope  will 
enlarge  even  to  the  thought  of  a  spiritual-moral  world- 
order,  either  existing  or  to  be  achieved.  Finally,  the 
social  focusing  of  life's  values,  here  forced  by  custom, 
will  ultimately  emancipate  the  individual  from  custom 


RACIAL  BEGINNINGS  IN  RELIGION  89 

and  lead  him  into  inner  freedom  that  more  than  fulfils 
the  law. 

Such,  in  very  brief,  is  early  religion,  and  such  is  our 
own  spiritual  lineage.  We  see:  (i)  that  religion  is 
present  among  early  men  because  the  functions  of 
religion  with  respect  to  values  are  performed,  rather 
than  because  any  particular  type  of  ideation  or  of  belief 
prevails;  (2)  that  early  religion  comprehends  every  \ 
interest  that  is  felt  to  be  important;  (3)  that  it  springs 
directly  out  of  instinctive  behavior,  such  as  food-getting, 
marrying,  fighting;  (4)  that  religion  grows  in  a  peculiar 
way  out  of  the  social  instincts  that  underlie  custom  and 
group  organization;  (5)  that,  as  far  as  origins  are  con- 
cerned, religion  is  continuous  with  magic  and  spiritism, 
though  it  often  tends,  as  we  shall  see,  to  grow  apart  from 
them;  (6)  finally,  that,  though  animal  gods  or  quasi- 
gods  preceded  gods  in  human  form,  nevertheless  an; 
thropomorphism  is  fundamental  to  the  whole. 

Concerning  magic  and  anthropomorphism  a  word  or 
two  more  must  be  said.  As  to  the  relation  of  magic  to 
religion,  three  positions  have  been  held.  Frazer  at  one 
time  was  of  the  opinion  (subsequently  modified)  that 
religion  arose  because  magic,  which  preceded  it,  did  not 
work.1  Leuba  contends  at  great  length  that  magic  and 
religion  are  separate  in  origin  and  in  inner  principle;  the 
mark  of  magic  being  control  of  hidden  powers;  that  of 
religion  persuasion  of  psychic  beings.2  King  holds  that, 
though  religion  and  magic  have  a  common  root,  magic 
is  or  tends  to  be  an  individual,  non-social,  and  often 
anti-social  use  of  the  same  sort  of  powers  that  religion 

1 J.  G.  Frazer,  The  Golden  Bough. 

*  A  Psychological  Study  of  Religion,  Part  II. 


90  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

employs.1  The  following  facts  seem  to  be  of  decisive 
importance  for  this  whole  problem:  (a)  Religious  cere- 
monies in  which  prayer  is  used  to  persuade  a  god  are 
historically  continuous  with  ceremonies  in  which  effects 
are  supposed  to  be  wrought  otherwise  than  by  psychic 
process,  for  example,  by  eating  the  totem  animal.  On 
the  other  hand,  in  developed  religions  gods  are  sometimes 
controlled  rather  than  persuaded.2  Further,  magic 
seeks  much  the  same  values  as  religion,  such  as  health, 
protection  from  enemies,  and  success  of  various  sorts, 
and  the  religious  and  the  magical  methods  of  seeking 
these  values  have  such  common  root  ideas  as  influencing 
the  whole  through  a  part  of  it  (as  getting  influence  over 
a  god  by  using  his  name),  and  securing  something  by 
imitating  it  (mimetic  dance,  dramatic  rehearsal  of  the 
adventures  of  the  god,  symbolical  sacrament).  Finally, 
/  mana  (the  taproot  of  god-belief)  and  also  spirits  are  used 
by  the  medicine  man,  who  is  the  precursor  of  priest- 
hoods at  the  same  time  that  he  is  head  magician.  All 
this  looks  toward  a  fundamental  unity  of  origin  and 
inner  principle,  (b)  Numberless  ways  that  we  can  ob- 
serve among  ourselves  bring  the  magical  and  the  religious 
into  the  closest  relation.  A  child  declared  that  a  prayer 
by  a  certain  minister  was  of  no  avail  because  he  prayed 
with  his  eyes  open.  Christians  who  refuse  to  pray  except 
in  the  name  of  Jesus  display  an  attitude  that  is  obviously 
a  survival  of  the  magical  use  of  names.  Mothers  are 

1  Development  of  Religion,  chap.  vii. 

1 J.  H.  Breasted,  Development  of  Religion  and  Thought  in  Ancient 
Egypt  (New  York,  1912),  shows  that  for  a  long  period  Egyptian  religion 
was  largely  a  body  of  devices  for  getting  power  over  the  gods  (see  p.  x 
and  Lecture  VIII). 


RACIAL  BEGINNINGS  IN  RELIGION  91 

anxious  about  their  babies  until  the  rite  of  baptism  has 
been  administered.  Multitudes  wear  amulets  upon  a 
cord  around  the  neck,  referring  the  protective  effect  to 
some  saint.  By  a  word  priests  change  bread  and  wine 
into  flesh  and  blood.  It  requires  no  stretching  of  either 
term  to  call  these  things  either  religion  or  magic,  (c)  On 
the  other  hand,  however,  we  see  religion,  or  at  least 
official  religion,  separating  itself  from  magic  and  con- 
demning it.  "Thou  shalt  not  suffer  a  witch  to  live." 
Traffic  with  the  gods  of  a  conquered  people  is  by  the 
conquerors  condemned  as  diabolical  magic.  Magic, 
further,  can  be  and  is  practiced  in  secret,  and  by  indi- 
viduals, whereas  the  religious  ceremony  is  above  all 
things  a  group  act  for  group  ends. 

The  conclusion  toward  which  these  facts  point  is 
that,  though  magic  and  religion  have  a  common  origin 
and  are  historically  and  psychologically  continuous  with 
each  other,  there  is  a  genuine  and  profound  difference. 
Religion  organizes  life's  values  and  seeks  them  socially;  | 
magic  fixes  upon  any  particular  value  and  seeks  it' 
individually  or  at  least  independently  of  the  larger  social 
order.  Because  it  lacks  the  social  quality  of  religion, 
magic  magnifies  wonders,  and  glories  in  supposed  events 
and  connections  that  lack  moral  significance.  Thus  it  is 
that  magic  so  commonly  seeks  out  supposed  secret  laws 
of  nature  in  order  to  control  events,  whereas  religion, 
all  in  all,  brings  worshipers  into  submission  to  beings 
of  a  social  sort. 

Let  us  notice,  finally,  the  anthropomorphic  char- 
acter of  the  whole  movement.  Certain  external  facts 
are  plain.  Before  men  believed  in  gods  having  the 
human  figure,  the  totemic  animal  ancestor  was  a  quasi- 


92  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

divinity.  Not  only  so,  but  the  totem  animal  is  intimately 
associated  with  early  gods  that  have  the  human  form. 
The  human  god  transforms  himself  into  the  animal;  or 
is  part  animal,  part  man;  or  is  accompanied  by  the 
animal;  or  bears  the  figure  of  the  animal  on  his  cloth- 
ing— in  short,  the  human  god  evolves  from  the  animal. 
Therefore,  it  is  said,  theriomorphism  precedes  anthropo- 
morphism. But  a  distinction  must  be  made  between 
two  senses  of  the  term  form  (-morphism),  between  the 
physiological  sense  and  the  psychological.  The  order 
therio-  to  anthropo-  is  primarily  physiological.  Back  of 
it  is  the  psychological  fact  that  the  qualities  of  men,  as 
men  then  conceived  these  qualities,  were  attributed  to  the 
totem  animal,  especially  the  totemic  ancestor.  To  sup- 
pose that  primitive  man  formed  his  notions  of  animals 
by  a  strictly  objective  procedure  like  that  of  our  natural- 
ists at  their  best  is  to  invert  the  actual  way  of  the  mind. 
No,  the  bear  is  a  brother  or  an  ancestor  because  of  the 
manlike  thought  and  motive  that  the  Indian  thinks  into 
him.  Anthropomorphism,  in  the  psychological  sense, 
inheres  in  religion  as  such  from  the  beginning. 

APPENDIX 

THE  RELATION  OF  THE  SEXUAL  INSTINCT  TO  RELIGION 

Various  writers  have  held  that  the  psychical  origin  and  the 
permanent  psychical  support  of  religion  are  to  be  found  in  the 
sexual  life.  The  facts  that  give  rise  to  this  theory  are  as  follows: 
(i)  the  wide  distribution  of  gods  of  procreation,  of  phallic  symbols, 
and  of  sexual  acts  as  a  part  of  religious  ceremonial;  (2)  the  dis- 
covery of  a  sexual  factor  in  mental  disorders  that  take  the  form 
of  religious  excitement,  depression,  or  delusion;  (3)  the  existence 
of  various  sects  that  connect  spiritual  yearning  or  perfection 
directly  with  sex,  either  in  the  way  of  indulgence  or  hi  the  way  of 


RACIAL  BEGINNINGS  IN  RELIGION  93 

suppression;  the  phenomena  range  from  license  on  the  one  hand 
to  the  sanctification  of  virginity  on  the  other,  with  polygamy  and 
various  other  sorts  of  control  between;  (4)  the  imagery  of  court- 
ship and  marriage  that  figures  so  largely  in  mystical  literature, 
together  with  evidence  that  sexual  sensations  and  desire,  in  certain 
individuals,  are  a  factor  in  mystical  ecstasy;  (5)  the  close  con- 
nection between  conversion  experiences  and  adolescence;  (6)  the 
emphasis  upon  "love"  in  the  Christian  religion. 

These  facts  indicate  some  sort  of  psychical  connection  between 
sex  and  religion.  But  to  determine  what  this  connection  is  we 
must  have  a  more  scientific  method  than  that  which  seeks  to 
explain  religion  by  picking  out  some  one  widespread  phenomenon 
that  happens  to  attract  one's  attention.  By  this  loose  method  a 
pretty  strong  case  could  be  made  for  the  proposition  that  fear  is  the 
psychical  origin  and  support  of  religion,  or  that  economic  interest 
is  the  controlling  one.  The  problem,  too,  needs  to  be  sharpened. 
On  the  one  hand,  there  must  be  such  an  inventory  of  original 
human  nature  as  will  put  us  on  the  lookout  for  all  the  elements 
in  the  great  complex  called  religion.  On  the  other  hand,  pains 
must  be  taken  not  to  oversimplify,  particularly  as  regards  early 
religion.  Further,  we  must  face  the  question,  How  are  instincts 
as  a  whole  related  to  the  desires  that  are  usually  regarded  as 
higher  ? 

Postponing  to  later  chapters  the  discussion  of  various  phases 
of  this  problem,  I  shall  at  this  point  briefly  indicate  the  conclusions 
toward  which  recent  studies  of  original  nature,  of  primitive  reli- 
gion, and  of  individual  religious  experience  in  higher  religions 
seem  to  be  tending  with  respect  to  the  general  relation  of  the 
sexual  instinct  to  religion:  (i)  The  earliest  religion  known  to  us 
is  not  an  individual  experience  (as  might  be  the  case  if  sexual 
instinct  were  the  sole  source)  but  a  group  enterprise.  (2)  The 
instinctive  basis  of  social  grouping  is  complex,  sex  being  only 
one  factor.  (3)  The  interests  of  the  earliest  religious  groups 
known  to  us  include  those  of  sex,  but  other  interests,  such  as  the 
economic,  are  always  prominent.  (4)  Throughout  the  history  of 
religion  this  complexity  prevails.  The  act  of  making  war,  or 
of  administering  justice,  or  of  protesting  against  the  oppression 
of  the  poor,  or  of  repentance  for  any  kind  of  wrongdoing,  or  of 


94  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

aspiring  toward  any  ideal  good,  may  have  a  religious  aspect 
directly — that  is,  because  of  its  own  felt  importance.  (5)  Phallic 
symbolism,  which  is  widespread,  appears  commonly  in  connection 
with  rites  that  have  to  do  with  the  fertility  of  the  earth,  that  is, 
with  the  food  supply.  This  is  true,  for  example,  of  the  serpent, 
and  of  whatever  phallic  symbols  the  "high  places"  of  the  Old 
Testament  bore.  The  sex  interest,  that  is  to  say,  does  not  neces- 
sarily dominate  religion  even  here.  (6)  Where  sex  interest  does 
succeed  in  dominating  religion,  as  in  the  worship  of  Astarte,  it  is 
opposed  and  finally  defeated  by  religion,  not  by  irreligion.  (7) 
Some  of  the  emotional  "reverberations"  of  sex,  as  hi  adolescence, 
have  a  pervasive  influence  which  religion  shares  along  with  the 
social,  the  aesthetic,  and  the  intellectual  life.  But  in  religion,  as 
in  social  organization,  art,  and  science,  this  is  only  one  factor  of  a 
complex.  (8)  In  some  notable  instances  religion  takes  a  social- 
ethical  ideal  as  its  cause.  The  Christian  principle  of  "love"  is 
an  example.  Here  it  is  parental  instinct  that  comes  most  clearly 
to  expression.  It  has,  in  fact,  the  controlling  place,  for  the  love 
that  is  required  between  men  is  that  of  brothers,  the  sons  of  a 
common  father. 

The  interesting  suggestion  has  been  made  that  primitive  man's 
first  notion  of  spirit  possession  and  of  transcendent  mystery  may 
have  arisen  directly  from  the  intensity  of  feeling  and  of  emotion 
hi  sexual  intercourse,  together  with  the  involuntary  character  of 
sex  excitement.  Hence  it  is  inferred  that  the  first  objects  of 
worship  were  the  sexual  organs,  and  that  the  first  gods  were  simply 
imaginative  representations  of  sex  experience.1  The  origin  of 
religion  in  the  race  must  doubtless  be  sought  in  some  sort  or  sorts 
of  excitement  that  jogged  primitive  man  out  of  his  habitual  modes 
of  conduct.  There  is  plenty  of  evidence  that  sex  excitement  has  a 
place  here,  but  this  evidence  is  paralleled  point  for  point  by 
evidence  of  the  presence  of  other  sorts  of  intense  excitement  also. 
The  capacity  of  sexual  excitement  to  awaken  new  modes  of  con- 
duct or  of  thought,  moreover,  was  limited  by  the  fact  that,  sexual 
promiscuity  or  at  least  very  early  sexual  union  being  allowed, 
desire  was  promptly  satisfied,  and  the  strains  that  fixate  attention 

'See  Theodore  Schroeder,  "  Erotogenese  der  Religion,"  Zeitschrift 
fiir  Religionspsychologie,  I  (1908),  445-55. 


RACIAL  BEGINNINGS  IN  RELIGION  95 

for  a  considerable  period  were  lacking.  That  is,  the  sexual  life 
tended  to  have  the  character  of  habit  and  commonplaceness.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  uncertainty  of  the  food  supply  and  the  vicis- 
situdes of  war  and  of  disease  created  situations  most  favorable 
to  the  sort  of  repeated  fixation  of  attention  out  of  which  a  new 
mode  of  conduct  and  of  thought  emerges.  Hence  the  great  promi- 
nence in  early  religion  of  ceremonies  connected  with  the  food  supply 
and  with  the  maintenance  of  group  solidarity.  For  a  discussion 
of  religion  in  adolescence,  see  the  chapter  on  "Conversion." 


CHAPTER  VI 
THE  GENESIS  OF  THE  IDEA  OF  GOD 

The  term  "god  "  connotes  qualities  not  clearly  present 
in  either  spirits  or  mana.  The  spirits  with  which  early 
man  had  dealings  were  often  vague,  shifty,  lacking  in 
the  qualities  that  command  respect.  One  might  say 
that  they  were  objectifications  of  men's  unorganized 
impulses.  Mana,  especially  as  contained  in  the  totem 
ancestor,  is  more  stable  and  awe-inspiring.  Yet  it  lacks 
clear  individuality.  The  gods,  on  the  other  hand,  are 
manlike,  have  individuality  or  character,  and  are  rela- 
tively exalted.  Men  establish  relations  with  them  by 
prayer  and  by  various  relatively  permanent  social  ar- 
rangements, such  as  vows  and  covenants.  We  have 
now  to  ask  how  it  is  that,  starting  without  any  god-idea 
at  all,  men  got  themselves  gods. 

Because  of  our  traditions,  many  of  us  tend,  whenever 
"the  idea  of  God"  is  mentioned,  to  think  of  it  as  an 
explanatory  or  philosophical  concept.  Consequently, 
when  inquiry  is  made  as  to  its  origin,  we  are  prone  to 
ask  from  what  facts  early  men  might  have  reasonably 
inferred  the  presence  of  divine  beings.  But  it  is  certain 
that  the  genesis  of  the  idea  is  not  to  be  found  in  the  con- 
trolled thinking  that  we  call  philosophy.  The  idea 
reaches  back  to,  and  is  continuous  with,  mana  and  the 
spirits,  which,  in  turn,  are  continuous  with  still  more 
inchoate  conceptions.  Our  search  will  not  stop  short 
of  the  crude  impressionism  in  which  thinking  started. 

96 


THE  GENESIS  OF  THE  IDEA  OF  GOD  97 

Our  problem  is  twofold :  first,  to  find  out  what  ideas 
of  a  more  elementary  sort  were  used  in  building  the 
god -idea,  and,  secondly,  to  determine  the  functions 
involved,  the  desires  that  found  satisfaction  in  or 
through  it. 

Five  elements  commonly  appear  in  the  early  mytho- 
logical representations  of  the  gods:  (i)  the  form  or  the 
ways  of  some  species  of  animal;  (2)  the  form  and  the 
ways  of  man;  (3)  the  ways  of  spirits,  as  hyper-rapid 
movement,  making  one's  self  invisible,  taking  possession 
of  a  man  or  an  animal  ;x  (4)  some  phenomenon  or  process 
of  xjature;  (5)  mana.  In  a  sense  each  of  these  five  may 
be  regarded  as  an  origin  of  the  god-idea,  but  no  one  of 
them  is  the  origin.  Nor  is  there  a  single,  exclusive  line 
of  descent.  Individual  men  may  have  been  deified,  but 
euhemerism  is  clearly  in  error  in  supposing  that  all  wor- 
ship is  worship  of  the  dead.  Even  the  hero-gods  of 
Greece,  it  appears,  are  not  reminiscences  of  great  civil- 
izers  or  deliverers,  but  of  early  fertility  festivals.2  Again, 
divine  beings  arise  out  of  spiritism,  and  no  doubt  the 
notion  of  disembodied  spirits  has  played  a  part  in  all 
developed  god-ideas.  According  to  Wundt,  the  god-idea 
proper  arises  through  fusion  of  two  antecedent  ideas,] 
demon  and  hero.  Yet  nature-powers,  too,  have  had  a 
part  in  the  entire  development.  The  fruitful  earth,  the 
fructifying  rain,  the  progression  of  the  seasons,  the  sun 
and  the  moon,  the  sea,  the  mountains — elements  like 

1  This  fact  throws  light  upon  the  question  whether  magic  and 
religion  have  separate  origins.  The  gods  themselves  are  to  a  large  extent 
magicians.  By  a  word,  or  by  the  use  of  some  talisman,  they  impose  their 
arbitrary  will  upon  nature. 

3  Harrison,  Themis,  particularly  p.  215. 


98  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

these  commonly  appear  in  early  god-ideas.  And,  in 
all  and  through  all,  there  runs  the  idea  of  mana,  the  "it" 
that  separates  the  very  important  from  the  common- 
place. 

In  spite  of  the  tendency  of  religion  toward  conserv- 
atism, these  elements  have  been  mobile.  A  people's 
conception  of  its  god  grows  and  changes  with  the  chan- 
ging experience  of  the  people.  Gods,  like  men,  can  take 
on  new  interests  and  occupations,  or  move  from  one 
realm  to  another.  They  are  influenced  by  the  company 
they  keep,  as  is  evident  from  changes  that  follow  fresh 
intercourse  between  two  religions.  They  can  even 
coalesce  with  one  another.1 

In  the  sense  of  taking  a  thing  to  pieces,  we  have  here, 
in  brief,  the  genesis  of  the  god-idea.  But  we  still  need 
to  inquire  what  controls  these  combinations  and  recom- 
binations. Why  are  they  made  at  all  ?  What  are  men 
about  in  the  whole  process,  and  why  do  they  single  out 
just  these  elements  and  form  just  these  combinations  ? 
The  answer  is  difficult,  chiefly  because  it  requires  on  our 
part  desophisticated  imagination.  How  would  we  our- 
selves spontaneously  act,  or  tend  to  act,  in  the  simple 
situations  of  early  man  ?  Let  us  see  how  we  do  act  when, 
being  taken  off  our  guard,  we  fail  to  use  the  accumulated 
wisdom  of  the  race.  A  man  who  unexpectedly  pounds 
his  thumb  with  a  hammer  gets  angry  with  it.  One  who 
stubs  his  toe  kicks  the  offending  obstacle.  If  a  knotty 
stick  of  wood  "refuses"  to  split,  we  "get  our  dander  up" 

1  These  processes  are  excellently  illustrated  in  the  religion  of  Egypt, 
and  in  the  part  that  it  contributed  to  the  religious  syncretism  of  the 
Roman  Empire.  See  J.  H.  Breasted,  Development  of  Religion  and  Thought 
in  Ancient  Egypt  (New  York,  1912). 


THE  GENESIS  OF  THE  IDEA  OF  GOD  99 

and  "go  for  it"  with  savage  blows.  In  our  unsophis- 
ticated moments  we  "  con  tend"  with  storms;  at  the 
height  of  such  a  contest  one  who  manages  a  canoe  or  a 
boat,  his  attention  strained  upon  the  one  issue,  goes 
through  an  experience  not  unlike  that  of  a  fencer  or  of  a 
wrestler.  How  often,  when  one  is  weary  or  "all  out  of 
sorts,"  one  feels,  and  even  says,  "Everything  seems  to 
be  against  me."  On  the  other  hand,  a  happy  child  was 
heard  to  say,  "I  love  everything,  and  everything  loves 
me!"  How  fond  we  become  of  things  that  are  closely 
associated  with  our  hours  of  freedom  and  happiness,  as 
in  sports.  A  fishing-rod,  a  canoe,  a  camp  ax,  a  bicycle, 
an  engine  that  works  well — we  actually  pet  and  fondle 
them!  And  the  spots  where  our  profounder  happiness 
has  come — the  old  home,  the  college,  a  scene  of  deep 
friendship  or  love — are  "sacred,"  set  apart  from  ordinary 
places,  because  our  experience  in  them  has  become,  as 
it  were,  a  part  of  them.  In  short,  emotional  thinking 
tends  to  transfer  the  glow  of  our  minds  to  the  object  of 
our  thoughts.  This  is  called  in  German  Einfuhlung. 
That  which,  to  our  cooler  thinking,  is  only  a  "thing," 
becomes  by  Einfuhlung  friendly  or  unfriendly.  Now, 
one  has  only  to  think  of  the  greater  extent  to  which  this 
is  characteristic  of  childhood,  and  then  to  consider  that 
mind  in  its  early  stages  lacked  most  of  the  knowledge 
of  "mere  things "  with  which  we  check  our  own  emotional 
thinking,  to  get  a  clue  to  the  functional  origin  of  god- 
ideas.1 

* 

1  The  way  in  which  emotional  thinking  calls  for  objects  to  express 
itself  upon  is  illustrated  by  the  story  of  a  Shekyani  chief,  Ogwedembe, 
whose  sister,  married  to  a  member  of  the  Mpongwe  tribe,  had  died. 
Ogwedembe,  having  come  to  the  funeral,  kept  saying,  "I  wish  my 


ioo  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

Now  and  then  a  whole  group  of  modern  men  and 
women,  under  a  sudden  shock  or  an  excessive  strain, 
seems  to  be  transferred  into  a  world  of  personal  or 
quasi-personal  meanings.  The  " Titanic"  survivors 
who  were  rescued  by  the  "Carpathia,"  so  Stanton  Coit, 
an  eyewitness,  relates,  seemed  not  to  be  stunned  and 
crushed  but  "lifted  into  an  atmosphere  of  vision  where 
self-centered  suffering  merges  into  some  mystic  mean- 
ing  We  were  all  one,  not  only  with  one  another, 

but  with  the  cosmic  being  that  for  the  time  had  seemed 
so  cruel."1  Still  more  significant  is  Professor  James's 
analysis  of  his  own  attitudes  and  those  of  others  on  the 
occasion  of  the  great  California  earthquake,  which  over- 
took him  at  Stanford  University.  "As  soon  as  I  could 
think,"  he  says,  "I  discerned  retrospectively  certain 
peculiar  ways  in  which  my  consciousness  had  taken  in 
the  phenomenon.  These  ways  were  quite  spontaneous 
and,  so  to  speak,  inevitable  and  irresistible.  First,  I 
personified  the  earthquake  as  a  permanent  individual 

entity Animus    and   intent   were   never    more 

present  in  any  human  action,  nor  did  any  human  activity 
ever  more  definitely  point  back  to  a  living  agent  as  its 
source  and  origin.  All  whom  I  consulted  on  the  point 
agreed  as  to  this  feature  in  their  experience.  'It  ex- 
pressed intention,'  'It  was  vicious,'  'It  was  bent  on 

sister  had  not  been  married  to  a  Mpongwe,  for  it  is  not  your  custom  to 
shed  blood  for  this  cause.  But  I  feel  a  great  desire  to  kill  someone. 
If  this  had  been  a  Shakyani  marriage,  I  would  have  gone  from  town 
to  town  killing  whom  I  chose."  The  Mpongwe  replied,  "But  we  have 
no  such  custom."  He  answered,  "Yes,  I  know  that;  I  only  said  what  I 
would  like  to  do,  though  your  tribal  custom  will  not  allow  me  to  do  it." 
— R.  H.  Nassau,  Fetishism  in  West  Africa  (New  York,  1904),  pp.  311  f. 

1  The  Outlook,  April  27,  1912,  pp.  894  f. 


THE  GENESIS  OF  THE  IDEA  OF  GOD  101 

destruction/  'It  wanted  to  show  its  power/  or  what  not. 
To  me  it  simply  wanted  to  manifest  the  full  meaning  of 
its  name.  But  what  was  this '  It '  ?  To  some,  apparently, 
a  vague,  demoniac  power;  to  me  an  individualized 
thing."1 

With  these  clues  in  mind,  let  us  imagine  what  the 
world  must  have  seemed  like  to  our  early  ancestors. 
What  were  the  occasions  of  emotional  excitement,  and 
upon  what  object  was  attention  likely  to  focus  on  each 
occasion?  This  object,  whatever  it  may  be  to  us  so- 
phisticated mortals,  was  to  our  ancestors  a  living  thing, 
with  desires  and  attitudes  of  its  own.  Animals,  of  course, 
were  such  objects,  especially  animals  that  were  feared, 
those  that  were  used  for  food,  those  whose  special  traits 
(courage,  cunning,  etc.)  attracted  notice,  and  those  that 
were  associated  (in  the  mind  of  the  savage)  with  impor- 
tant events,  such  as  the  revival  of  food-yielding  plants  in 
the  spring.  Where  anxiety  for  the  food  supply  is  common, 
a  food  animal  or  even  plant  becomes  a  friend,  perhaps  a 
relative.  To  feel  the  reality  of  the  totemic  relationship 
was  probably  easier  than  it  is  for  us  to  feel  our  racial 
unity  with  the  African  pygmies.  To  feel  the  wonder  of 
an  animal's  courage  or  cunning  was  to  attribute  mana 
to  him.  If  he  was  the  totem  animal,  eating  him  at  the 
tribal  festival  was  a  method  of  obtaining  some  of  his 
mana.  Further,  since  he  was  a  relative,  in  the  tribal 
dance  that  accompanied  the  meal  men  wore  the  animaPs 
skin  or  head,  or  masks  representing  him.  Just  as  a  small 
child  will  shrink  in  terror  from  a  man  who,  without  any 
disguise,  impersonates  a  bear  by  "going  on  all  fours" 

1  Quoted  by  the  Boston  Transcript,  June  6,  1906,  from  the  Youth's 
Companion. 


102         'THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

and  growling,  so  to  tribal  men  the  mask-wearer  was  for 
the  time  being  much  more  than  an  ordinary  man.  The 
human  and  the  extra-human  fused.  Here  we  have  all 
the  elements  and  motives  necessary  for  belief  in  exalted 
beings  having  qualities  of  both  men  and  animals.  These 
elements  are  consolidated  into  a  tradition  by  the  recur- 
ring festival,  with  its  retelling  of  the  old  stories  and  its 
re-enactment  of  the  ancient  ceremonies  under  conditions, 
such  as  night,  secrecy,  and  prolonged  strain  of  attention, 
that  favor  the  reinstatement  of  the  emotion.  What 
gives  vitality  to  the  whole  is  the  feeling  that  great  inter- 
ests are  at  stake — food,  health,  all  kinds  of  success,  even 
unnamed  and  vague  welfare  and  illfare. 

In  the  general  characteristics  of  emotional  thinking 
we  have  the  basis  for  spiritistic  beliefs  also.  The  origin 
of  religion  used  to  be  sought  in  animism,  or  the  belief 
that  objects  are  inhabited  by  spirits.  Such  belief  is, 
indeed,  universal  at  certain  levels  of  culture,  and  it  has 
had  an  important  part  in  the  evolution  of  religion.  The 
question  is,  What  part?  Clearly,  animism  as  such  is 
simply  a  general  level  of  thought.  It  contributes  some- 
thing to  the  god-idea,  but  it  is  not  of  itself  religion.  We 
must  still  search  for  the  motives,  the  life-issues.  More- 
over, animism  is  not  a  strictly  primitive  form,  even  of 
thought.  It  involves  the  notion  of  a  difference  between 
spirit  and  body,  a  notion  that  could  have  been  achieved 
only  through  a  considerable  process.  As  the  achieve- 
ment of  this  notion  is,  of  course,  one  phase  of  religious 
evolution,  a  preanimistic  stage  of  religion  is  now  rec- 
ognized. 

Let  us  try,  then,  to  represent  to  ourselves  how  the 
idea  of  a  spirit  separable  from  the  body  arose.  On  the 


THE  GENESIS  OF  THE  IDEA  OF  GOD  103 

converse  side,  this  is  the  question  how  men  first  began 
to  think  of  body  as  separable  from  spirit.  Not  that  all 
objects  whatsoever  were  at  one  time  thought  of  as  alive 
and  friendly  or  unfriendly;  for  objects  habitually  pres- 
ent without  emotional  accompaniments  were  probably 
as  colorless  to  early  man  as  they  are  to  us.  But  this 
does  not  mean  that  early  man  thought  of  them  specifi- 
cally as  not  alive,  as  "mere''  things;  it  means,  rather, 
that  he  did  not  raise  the  question.  But  any  one  of  these 
habitually  colorless  things  might,  merely  by  the  laws 
of  mental  association,  become  the  focus  of  emotional 
interest  and  therefore  reveal  itself  as  alive  like  a  man. 
Now,  to  be  alive  like  a  man  was  not,  at  first,  to  be  com- 
pounded of  soul  and  body,  but  just  to  have  the  breath 
of  life  (anima).  The  Hebrew  creation  myth  says  that 
God  "  breathed  into  his  nostrils  the  breath  of  life,  and 
man  became  a  living  soul."  'The  question,  then,  is  how 
this  bodily  soul  came  to  be  thought  of  as  a  spirit,  that 
is  (primarily),  a  second  or  double  capable  of  existence 
on  its  own  account  and  of  uniting  itself  with  bodies, 
whether  human,  animal,  or  other.  An  old  theory  has 
it  that  from  the  shadow  that  accompanies  a  man  but  is 
intangible;  from  the  reflection  of  one's  face  in  a  pool; 
from  dream  memories  in  which  one  recalls  having  been 
at  a  distance  from  the  spot  in  which  one's  body  certainly 
lay;  and  from  visions,  at  night  or  by  day,  of  persons 
whose  bodies  are  at  a  distance  or  perhaps  buried,  men 
inferred  the  existence  of  a  man  within  a  man,  but  sepa-/ 
rable  from  the  tangible  body.  Wundt  adds  the  experience 
of  trance,  in  which  the  body  seems  strange  or  "not  here." 
This  "second"  is  still  body,  but  intangible — a  ghost 
through  which  a  sword  may  be  thrust  without  wounding. 


104  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

This  notion,  once  reached  in  respect  to  man,  could 
be  extended  to  other  things — the  whole  world  could  be 
peopled  with  flitting  spirits  or  demons.  Without  doubt 
some  such  association  of  ideas  occurred,  but  its  effect 
was  merely  to  render  more  precise  and  differentiated  the 
thought  factor  already  described  as  present  from  the 
beginning,  namely,  the  self-projection  characteristic  of 
emotional  situations.  Spirits  are  at  bottom  not  an 
intellectual  "find";  they  are  rather  a  focalized  repre- 
sentation of  intense  experience  with  its  spontaneous 
Einfuhlung. 

Some  important  results  flowed  from  the  attainment 
of  this  notion.  First,  death  received  a  fairly  definite 
interpretation,  at  first  a  terrifying  one — that  the  spirit 
of  a  dead  man  is  a  malignant  power  that  lingers  about 
the  body  for  a  time  and  then  wanders  abroad — but 
later,  in  the  more  progressive  groups,  the  more  construc- 
tive notion  of  continuity  of  social  bonds  between  living 
men  and  their  departed  ancestors.  Secondly,  it  became 
increasingly  easy  to  attribute  exalted  human  qualities 
to  the  superior  powers.  The  vagueness  of  mana  and  the 
equivocally  human  nature  of  the  totemic  ancestor  could  | 
not  remain  unchanged;  they  became  conformed  to  the 
image  of  the  human.  But,  thirdly,  the  unsocial  tend- 
encies of  men  were  objectified  in  swarms  of  capricious, 
even  malignant,  spirits.  There  is  no  absolute  dividing 
line  between  gods  and  such  spirits;  all  have  human 
qualities,  all  are  projections  of  what  men  felt  in  them- 
selves when  they  were  excited.  Even  very  great  or 
divine  spirits  were  often  tricky,  passionate,  filled  with 
the  cunning  of  magicians  rather  than  the  wisdom  and 
justice  of  magistrates.  But  as  the  larger,  more  stable 


THE  GENESIS  OF  THE  IDEA  OF  GOD  105 

interests  of  society  came  to  be  represented  in  certain 
spirits,  who  were  approached  by  prayer  and  group  cere- 
monial, so  the  more  petty,  less  social  interests  were  taken 
over  by  inferior  spirits,  who  were  in  some  degree  con- 
trolled by  individuals  rather  than  worshiped  by  the 
group.  Thus  arises  the  opposition  between  religion  and 
magic  and  the  identification  of  magic  with  spiritism. 

The  prominence  of  sun,  thunder,  mountains,  and 
the  like  in  early  god-ideas  led  many  students  to  the 
supposition  that  these  ideas  sprang  directly  out  of 
wonder  at  striking  phenomena.  No  doubt  there  is  a 
grain  of  truth  here.  Phenomena  that  excited  strong 
emotion  were  doubtless  taken  as  the  presence  of  living 
things  capable  of  friendly  or  unfriendly  attitudes.  But 
there  remains  the  problem  as  to  how  experiences  as 
commonplace  as  sunshine  can  awaken  such  emotion. 
We  know  definitely  that  early  ceremonies  in  which  sun, 
moon,  rain,  springtime,  and  autumn  are  prominent 
commonly  have  to  do  with  the  food  supply.  We  may 
fairly  infer  that,  though  curiosity  as  to  the  causes  of 
striking  phenomena  was  never  absent,  the  chief  organ- 
izing interests,  the  ones  that  could  produce  recurring 
emotional  excitement  with  reference  to  even  these 
commonplace  phenomena,  were  such  obvious,  vital 
issues  as  hunger,  sickness,  death,  marriage,  and  war. 
The  chief  source  of  the  god-idea  is  organic  and  social 
need;  free  curiosity  is  secondary. 

A  general  answer  can  now  be  given  to  our  second 
question,  What  were  men  about  when  they  put  all  these 
factors  together  into  god-ideas?  It  is  clear  that  god- 
ideas  attribute  human  qualities  to  the  extra-human. 
This  is  sometimes  called  imaginative  projection  of  the 


io6  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

human  self.  But  to  early  man  there  is  no  " projection" 
at  all;  the  gods  are  simply  realities  of  experience  when 
it  is  most  vivid.  If  he  could  have  phrased  his  procedure, 
he  might  have  said  something  like  this:  "I  feel  alive 
most  intensely  when  with  my  tribe  I  wrestle  with  some 
sense  of  common  need  or  rejoice  in  some  common  joy. 
At  such  moments  I  realize  that  our  feeling  is  more  than 
ours;  it  is  something  that  overwhelms  us;  it  is  shared 
by  those  beings — ancestors,  spirits,  nature-powers — that 
are  close  to  us  in  our  struggle  to  live.  They  want  what 
we  want;  they  work  with  us  to  obtain  it;  and  they  that 
be  with  us  are  stronger  than  they  that  be  against  us." 

In  short,  the  genesis  of  the  god-idea  is  a  spontaneous, 
underived  conviction  that  what  is  most  important  for 
us  is  really  important,  that  is,  respected  and  provided 
for  by  the  reality  upon  which  we  depend.  For  early 
man  the  world  of  values  is  the  real  world. 


CHAPTER  VII 
RELIGION  AND  THE  RELIGIONS 

In  the  earliest  stages  of  culture  religion  is  much  the 
same  the  world  over.  The  similarity  is,  in  fact,  so  great 
that  one  inevitably  asks  whether  communication  has 
not  taken  place  between  the  most  remote  and  mutually 
inaccessible  tribes.  But  religion  develops  into  religions 
with  contrasting  or  even  antagonistic  traits.  Why  this 
early  uniformity  and  this  later  lack  of  it  ?  For  answer 
we  must  look  to  the  broad  general  principle  already 
explained,  that  religion  is  not  a  separate  interest  having 
a  particular  character  of  its  own,  but  rather  a  way  of 
dealing  with  interests,  an  organizing  principle  among  all 
the  values  that  are  recognized  at  any  stage  of  culture. 

The  almost  uniform  character  of  early  religion  does 
not  point  to  a  single  origin  of  religious  practices  at  some 
particular  spot  whence  they  have  spread  over  the  earth, 
but  to  the  relative  simplicity  and  uniformity  of  interests 
of  all  men  everywhere  who  are  still  in  the  early  stages 
of  the  conquest  of  nature.  This  principle  applies  to 
many  things  besides  religion,  such  as  primitive  tools. 
It  is  not  probable  that  the  stone  hammer,  or  the  bow 
and  arrow,  arose  at  a  single  point,  but  at  many  points. 
Just  so,  the  hunting  and  later  the  domestication  of 
animals,  and  the  gathering  of  wild  seeds,  followed  by 
sowing  and  reaping,  are  to  be  traced  to  desire  for  suffi- 
ciency and  certainty  of  food  in  a  world  that  everywhere 
provides  nutritive  material  of  about  the  same  sorts. 

107 


io8  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

So  with  emotional  attitudes;  and  so  with  ideas  as  to  the 
forces  involved,  and  the  crude  methods  for  dealing  with 
them.  The  returning  life  of  spring,  for  example,  could 
not  fail  to  be  met  with  joyous  ceremonies  in  many  parts 
of  the  world,  and  these  ceremonies  would  include  many 
close  similarities  without  any  borrowing  whatever.  All 
this  presupposes,  however,  some  law  of  evolution  where- 
by, under  similar  conditions,  mental  reactions  of  the 
same  sort  enter  into  the  biological  order. 

On  the  other  hand,  growing  differentiation  of  inter- 
ests affected  religion  directly.  For  religion  is  not  a 
thing  by  itself;  it  has  no  springs  other  than  the  impulse 
to  live,  to  live  well,  to  live  a  diversified  yet  organized 
life,  and  especially  to  live  socially.  To  explain  the  rise 
of  religions,  then,  we  must  study  the  particular  factors 
in  the  experience  of  any  people  that  led  to  specialization 
of  interests.  At  the  same  time  we  must  bear  in  mind 
tendencies  toward  organization  and  systematization  that 
are  common  to  mankind.  Seven  such  factors  and 
tendencies  can  be  recognized: 

1.  Geographic  situation. — For  example,  the  Egyptian 
religion  reflects  a  Nile  valley  consciousness;   the  Baby- 
lonian, that  of  the  lowlands  of  the  Euphrates;    the 
Scandinavian,  a  consciousness  of  the  northern  forests 
and  the  rigors  of  the  northern  winter;   the  Hebrew,  of 
the  hill  and  valley  land  of  Palestine,  with  its  nearness 
to  the  great  trade  route  between  East  and  West  and  yet 
its  possibilities  of  upland  seclusion. 

2.  Economic  development. — Herdsmen  have  one  sort 
of  religion,  agriculturists  another.     The  sacredness  of 
the  cow  among  the  Todas  is  often  adduced  as  an  instance ; 
the  struggle  between  Jahwe  worship  and  Baal  worship 


RELIGION  AND  THE  RELIGIONS  109 

likewise.  Great  accumulations  of  wealth,  as  at  Bethel 
in  the  days  of  Amos,  produce  results  in  worship  and  in 
ideals.  It  is  not  otherwise  with  us.  Churches  whose 
traditions  relate  them  to  an  earlier  economic  order  are 
laboring  to  understand  the  religious  significance  of 
factory  production,  with  its  massing  of  employees, 
its  massing  of  capital,  and  its  methods  of  distributing 
the  product  of  labor.  It  is  beginning  to  dawn  upon 
the  Protestant  consciousness  that  the  Christian  religion 
has  never  been  an  independent  thing  merely  acting 
upon  the  economic  order,  but  that  the  religious  order  and 
the  economic  order  are  two  parts  of  one  indissoluble  life. 
3.  Social  and  political  organization. — As  totemism 
was  at  once  religion  and  tribal  organization,  so  the  forma- 
tion of  nations  was  the  formation  of  national  religions. 
Monarchy  reflects  itself  in  monarchic  notions  of  divinity. 
Monotheism  cannot  arise  until  there  is  a  large  political 
consciousness.  In  one  notable  instance,  that  of  the 
Egyptian  ruler  Ikhnaton,  we  can  witness  the  idea  of  one 
only  God,  great  and  good,  arising  directly  out  of  the 
thought  of  world-dominion.  Ikhnaton's  idealism  failed 
to  become  a  religion  because  the  people  were  not  pre- 
pared for  it.  It  remained  for  the  prophets  of  Israel  to 
take  up  the  task.  With  the  battering  down  of  Hebrew 
national  pride  by  defeat  and  exile,  some  change  had  to 
take  place  in  the  idea  of  the  national  god.  Some  of  the 
prophets,  their  political  outlook  broadened  to  inter- 
national proportions,  conceived  the  mind  of  Jahwe  to 
be  correspondingly  broad — he  was  God  of  nations,  not 
merely  of  one  nation.  Others,  reflecting  upon  the  inner 
qualities  that  make  rkh  our  social  life  (as  Hosea's  re- 
flections upon  conjugal  affection,  and  Amos'  analysis 


no  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

of  social  justice),  conceived  of  ethical  tenderness  or 
strength  as  belonging  to  the  God  of  all  the  earth.  In 
Jesus'  notion  of  the  Father  there  were  contributions 
from  family  organization,  national  life,  and  international 
experiences. 

4.  Interaction    of    peoples. — The    intermingling     of 
peoples,  whether  by  means  of  war,  of  migration,  or  of 
commerce,  exercises  an  influence  upon  a  people's  religion 
as  upon  all  other  elements  of  culture.    A  god  is  taken 
over,  or  new  forms  of  worship  are  adopted,  or  a  dormant 
motive  is  stimulated  into  activity,   or  a  doctrine  is 
accepted.    This  applies  not  only  to  intentional  syncre- 
tism like  that  at  Rome,  but  even  to  would-be  exclusive 
religions.     A  conquering  religion  may  impose  its  gods 
upon  the  vanquished,  but  the  vanquished  faith  is  likely 
to  mingle  with  that  of  the  conquerors.    This  happened 
after  the  conquest  of  Canaan,  and  it  happened  with 
Christianity.     Both  Christian  theology  and  Christian 
worship  contain  elements  derived  neither  from  Jesus 
nor  from  Judaism,  but  from  the  cults  that  surrounded 
the  early  church. 

5.  Cultural  influences,  as  philosophy,  science,  art. — 
The  earliest  culture  is  not  departmentalized  as  religion 
plus  morals,  plus  law,  plus  philosophy  and  science,  plus 
art  and  literature;    rather,  these  interests  are  present 
without  being  differentiated  from  one  another.     The 
genealogy  of  science  and  philosophy  as  well  as  of  theology 
reaches  back  to  mythology.     The  beginning  of  the 
drama  is  in  the  so-called  mimetic  dance,  which  is  a  part 
of  a  religious  ceremony.    Another  part  of  it,  the  chant, 
and  the  rude  rhythm-making  that  accompanied  it,  have 
much  to  do  with  the  origin  of  song  and  of  instrumental 


RELIGION  AND  THE  RELIGIONS  in 

music.  Carvings  and  drawings  made  for  their  supposed 
magical  effect  gave  rise  to  sculpture,  painting,  and  writ- 
ing. The  effort  to  build  a  house  adequate  for  a  god  had 
much  to  do  with  the  rise  of  architecture.  Education, 
finally,  goes  back  to  the  initiation  ceremony  which,  both 
in  itself  and  in  its  interim  influence,  constitutes  a  training 
by  society  for  social  ends.  It  is  only  in  recent  times,  in 
fact,  that  control  of  education  has  passed  out  of  the 
hands  of  the  church.  But  each  of  these  (observation 
and  thought,  song,  poetic  composition,  etc.),  broadening 
its  sphere,  became  more  and  more  conscious  of  itself  as 
an  interest  per  se.  Where  each  had  heretofore  existed 
only  as  a  contributor  to  a  whole  that  can  best  be  called 
religion  (just  because  of  its  wholeness),  each  came  to 
assume  independent  control  of  itself.  In  a  sense 
"religion  is  the  mother  of  the  arts,"  and  of  the  sciences 
too.1 

This  differentiation  from  religion  marks  the  arrival 
of  religion  at  self-consciousness,  with  specialization  of 
functions  and  organs — religious  doctrines,  literature, 
art,  priesthoods,  and  much  more.  We  can  now  speak 
of  interaction  between  religion  and  the  other  parts  of  a 
people's  culture.  The  characteristics  of  religion  in  a 
given  instance  will  depend  in  part,  for  example,  upon 
the  status  of  knowledge.  A  very  accessible  case  is  the 
modification  of  even  popular  Christianity  by  modern 
science  and  discovery.  The  larger  world  in  which  we 
live  is  reflected  in  the  idea  of  God,  which  has  been 
immensely  enlarged  and  ennobled  within  the  era  of 

1  Hocking,  chap,  ii,  makes  some  subtle  observations  on  this  fertility 
of  religion,  and  on  the  problem,  What  is  left  of  religion  when  the  arts 
are  all  free? 


112  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

great  geographical,  astronomical,  physical,  and  biological 
discoveries.  The  influence  of  the  aesthetic  arts  is  more 
subtle  because  it  works  directly  within  the  emotions; 
yet  no  one  can  doubt  the  religious  effect  of  temple  archi- 
tecture— the  solemn  colonnade  at  Thebes,  the  graceful 
dignity  of  the  Parthenon,  the  aspiring  mass  of  a  Gothic 
cathedral.  Similarly,  the  investment  of  the  ritual  with 
aesthetic  wealth  in  tone,  color,  and  movement  guides 
as  well  as  expresses  sentiment.  When  painters  and 
sculptors  became  interested  in  the  human  figure  as  such, 
and  not  merely  as  a  means  of  representing  the  gods,  art 
acquired  ability  to  soften  and  humanize  religion,  as  it 
has  done  through  a  multitude  of  Madonnas  with  the 
Child.  On  the  other  hand,  the  absence  of  development 
in  any  branch  of  culture  means  always  some  difference 
in  religious  development.  Limit  education  to  a  social 
class,  and  you  will  have  a  religion  different  from  that 
which  will  appear  in  the  same  people  if  education 
becomes  universal.  The  printing  press,  too,  is  religiously 
momentous.  In  short,  we  have  in  these  interactions 
still  further  evidence  that  religion  is  not  a  separate  and 
independent  interest  with  a  history  exclusively  its  own. 
Even  when  it  takes  the  form  of  a  special  interest  it  does 
not  become  wholly  specialized,  but  remains  responsive 
to  all  the  movements  of  the  arts  and  sciences  that 
originally  sprang  from  it. 

K6.  The  institutionalizing  of  religion. — Our  first  glimpse 
f  religious  origins  shows  us  an  institution — a  ceremony 
firmly  supported  by  custom.  The  sacredness  of  custom 
passes  on  to  institutions  like  priesthoods,  temples,  sys- 
tems of  doctrine,  and  sacred  laws  and  literature  until 
in  some  cases  civil  government  is  paralleled  in  firmness 


RELIGION  AND  THE  RELIGIONS  113 

of  organization,  in  dignity,  and  even  in  power  by  ecclesi- 
astical institutions.  Why  religion  gave  itself  institu- 
tional form  is  plain  to  see — important  interests  of  a 
social  sort  appeared  to  require  the  correct  repetition  of 
the  effective  act,  in  the  first  instance  some  ceremony. 
But  the  mere  fact  that  religion  has  been  largely  an 
institutional  affair  has  had  significant  consequences, 
some  of  which  are  not  so  plain. 

In  the  first  place,  it  has  helped  to  develop  the  notion 
of  the  secular  as  against  the  sacred.  The  temple  and 
the  priests  are  commonly  supposed  to  be  nearer  to  the 
gods  than  are  the  commonalty.  In  some  instances  this 
has  resulted  in  two  codes  for  conduct. 

In  the  second  place,  institutions  as  such  resist  change. 
The  very  act  of  formulating  and  organizing  anything 
carries  in  itself  an  assumption  that  here,  at  this  point  of 
time,  something  has  been  found  that  is  worthy  of  preser- 
vation. Capital,  labor,  reputation,  and  dignity  are 
therefore  invested  in  it.  The  institutional  leaders  tend 
thenceforth  to  identify  their  own  attitudes  with  those 
of  the  divine  being,  and  thus  finally  demand  the  right 
to  legislate  for  life  in  general  and  to  exact  obedience. 
The  claim  of  ecclesiastical  organizations  thus  to  speak 
for  the  god  is,  historically  considered,  a  demand  that 
the  religious  spirit  shall  submit  to  one  or  more  of  its 
own  ancient  products. 

But,  in  the  third  place,  there  is  a  much  less  under- 
stood side  of  the  institutionalizing  process.  In  spite  of 
the  conservatism  of  institutions,  they  are  often  organs, 
used  in  ways  they  know  not  of  by  the  life-forces  that 
produced  them.  Taboo  applied  to  the  property  of  the 
chief  helps  to  found  the  general  right  of  property.  On 


114  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

the  other  hand,  by  establishing  the  intermediate  idea 
of  the  ceremonially  holy,  taboo  led  the  way  toward 
feeling  for  the  ethically  holy  and  right.  Ethical  content 
has,  in  fact,  seeped  into  many  an  ancient  pre-ethical 
shell.  From  purification  ceremonies  intended  to  remove 
the  effects  of  broken  taboo  grew  the  notion  of  a  purifi- 
cation of  the  heart.  Spells  and  incantations  grew  into 
prayers  for  favor;  these  grew  into  aspiration  for  uni- 
versal righteousness.  The  shell  that  remains  from  the 
original  ceremony,  or  verbal  formula,  becomes  at  last 
more  or  less  consciously  a  symbol.  Christian  practice 
contains  many  a  form  into  which  fresh  meaning  has 
come.  This  is  true  of  baptism  (a  residual  of  lustration) ; 
the  eucharist  (a  residual  of  .totemistic  eating  of  the  god) ; 
our  processions  and  our  bowing,  kneeling,  or  standing 
in  public  worship;  finally,  a  great  part  of  our  religious 
terminology.  Even  formulae  that  were  originally  in- 
tended to  define  the  truth  for  all  time  cease,  almost 
insensibly,  to  be  definitions,  and  become  instead  symbols 
of  truths  or  of  group  interests,  the  definition  of  which 
is  elsewhere  attempted.  Wherever  freedom  prevails, 
creeds  tend  to  become  mere  flags  that  remind  the  people 
of  their  group  loyalties. 

To  assume,  then,  that  the  present  meaning  of  an 
institutional  form  is  the  same  as  the  earliest  meaning 
is  to  make  one's  self  liable  to  historical  and  psychological 
error.  Institutions  are  more  plastic  than  their  external 
forms  would  lead  one  to  suppose.  Especially  is  this 
true  of  institutions  that  commit  themselves  to  some 
high  ideal,  as  the  Christian  churches  have  so  largely 
done.  The  extent  to  which  the  progressive  changes  of 
Christianity  have  sprung  from  within  the  ecclesiastical 


RELIGION  AND  THE  RELIGIONS  115 

bonds  is  rather  astonishing.  At  the  present  moment,  too, 
the  faults  of  the  churches  are  not  more  drastically  ex- 
posed by  the  church's  enemies  than  by  loyal  church 
people.  It  is  safe  to  say,  also,  that  no  institution  with 
a  history  has  shown  greater  capacity  for  adaptation 
than  the  Protestant  churches  have  displayed  since  the 
middle  of  the  nineteenth  century.  The  doctrine  of 
evolution,  the  historical  study  of  the  Bible,  the  sudden 
expansion  of  the  social  consciousness,  the  transformation 
in  people's  ways  through  the  growth  of  cities  and  of 
modern  machinery — these  things  created  a  situation 
that  would  have  been  ominous  for  the  churches  if 
ecclesiastical  institutions  were  really  as  inflexible  as 
their  external  forms  appear  to  be.  Without  attempting 
to  say  how  far  these  churches  have  solved  the  problems 
thus  thrust  upon  them,  one  can  easily  see  that  they  have 
gone  a  long  way  in  the  assimilation  of  modern  knowledge 
of  a  revolutionary  character  (as  far  as  theology  is  con- 
cerned), that  they  have  largely  shifted  their  emphasis 
even  with  regard  to  the  meaning  of  the  Christian  life, 
and  that  they  have  entered  upon  fresh  practical  tasks 
of  the  greatest  difficulty. 

7.  The  influence  of  individuals. — Several  great  reli- 
gions and  many  minor  ones  take  their  start  from  indi- 
vidual leaders.  It  is  an  impressive  and  rather  mysterious 
spectacle  that  we  witness  here.  For  in  some  cases  the 
leader  not  merely  starts  something  going,  as  a  statesman, 
a  warrior,  or  an  inventor  may  do,  but  he  attaches  the 
people  to  himself  personally  with  a  loyalty  or  even 
affection  that  runs  on  for  centuries  after  his  death. 
There  is  nothing  comparable,  in  other  phases  of  life 
than  the  religious,  to  the  attachment  of  millions  of  men 


Ii6  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

to  Gautama,  Jesus,  and  Mohammed.  And  these  are 
but  supreme  instances;  the  masses  respond,  and  have 
always  responded,  with  a  peculiar  loyalty  to  many  lesser 
lights.  For  this  reason  a  chapter  will  be  devoted  to 
analysis  of  the  mental  traits  of  religious  leaders.  But  it 
should  be  said  at  once  that  the  influence  of  individuals 
in  differentiating  religion  into  specific  religions  is  not 
limited  to  the  leaders.  Individual  variation  takes  place, 
or  may  take  place,  in  greater  or  less  degree  through  a 
whole  mass.  The  quick  response  that  makes  one  an 
early  disciple  is  an  individual  variation  as  truly  as  the 
quality  in  the  master  that  evokes  the  response.  So  with 
the  formation  of  parties  for  or  against  a  new  leader;  the 
new  issue,  felt  as  such  by  large  masses  of  men,  is  a  sign 
that  social  evolution  is  going  on  by  means,  not  only  of 
"  mutations "  or  large  variations  in  a  few  individuals 
who  lead,  but  also  by  accumulation  of  smaller  variations 
in  the  masses  that  follow. 

This  list  of  the  factors  that  give  to  each  religion  its 
special  character  does  not  include  the  mental  traits  of 
different  races  of  mankind — what  is  sometimes  called 
racial  temperament.  Differences  between  religions  are, 
of  course,  to  a  considerable  extent,  differences  between 
races  also ;  but  this  does  not  prove  that  one  is  the  cause 
of  the  other.  Moreover,  racial  traits  must  themselves 
be  accounted  for.  The  most  probable  view  of  the 
matter  is  that  mankind  is  a  single  species  that  origi- 
nated at  a  particular  spot,  whence  it  spread  over  the 
earth,  and  that  racial  differences  arose  through  the  long- 
continued  influence  of  special  habitats.  It  is  natural  to 
suppose  that  causes  that  could  produce  the  anatomical 
contrasts  with  which  we  are  familiar  might  produce  cor- 


RELIGION  AND  THE  RELIGIONS  117 

responding  contrasts  in  mental  constitution.  There  is,  in 
fact,  a  popular  belief  that  racial  mental  traits  are  passed 
on  by  the  procreative  process  just  as  stature,  or  color  of 
skin  and  of  hair,  or  shape  of  nose  is  passed  on.  Yet 
everywhere  we  find  the  same  senses,  with  few  if  any  of 
the  wide  differences  that  were  once  supposed  to  exist; 
the  same  instincts;  the  same  processes  of  mental  organi- 
zation. What  is  different  is  the  objective  interests 
with  which  men  occupy  themselves,  and  the  degrees  to 
which  a  given  interest  is  followed  up.  But  this  kind  of 
difference  can  be  accounted  for,  in  large  measure,  by 
the  respective  situations  of  different  peoples,  such  as 
the  kinds  and  degrees  of  action  required  by  climatic 
conditions  and  the  nature  of  the  food  supply,  and  the 
presence  or  absence  of  the  stimulus  that  comes  from 
the  intermingling  of  peoples.  In  short,  though  a  dog- 
matic denial  of  the  existence  of  inborn  racial  tempera- 
ments would  be  rash,  we  cannot  with  assurance  appeal 
to  such  temperaments  as  an  explanation  of  the  differ- 
ences between  religions.  We  are  thrown  back  upon  the 
assumption  of  minds  substantially  alike  reacting  in 
environments  that  do  not  offer  the  same  stimuli,  and 
therefore  do  not  awaken  the  same  desires  and  efforts). 
Hence,  there  are  arrests  of  development  in  one  quarter 
and  particular  types  of  development  in  another. 

The  differentiation  of  religions,  that  is  to  say,  is 
primarily  functional  rather  than  structural.  Differences 
in  the  thing  that  has  to  be  done,  or  in  the  means  for 
doing  it,  or  in  the  groups  that  are  related  to  the  doing 
of  it — in  short,  differences  in  the  specific  purposes  of 
life  and  in  the  specific  objects  through  which  satisfac- 
tions are  secured  shunt  thought  to  one  track  or  another. 


n8  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

A  need  to  think  is  primary,  and  this  is  none  other  than 
a  need  to  organize  the  given  environment,  natural  and 
social,  so  as  to  attain  some  specific  aim,  such  as  food, 
victory,  health,  or  social  justice. 

When,  however,  such  a  thought  process  gets  well 
started,  it  tends  to  develop  an  interest  in  its  objects 
regardless  of  their  relation  to  practical  purposes.  There 
is  pleasure  in  developing  a  story,  or  in  embellishing  a 
portrait,  or  in  reconciling  and  systematizing  scattered 
concepts.  Thus  the  initial  differences  in  the  thought 
structures  of  different  tribes  and  nations  are  heightened 
until,  growing  from  very  similar  types,  we  have  the 
contrasting  complexes  presented  by  the  theologies  of 
the  world. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
RELIGION  AS  GROUP  CONDUCT 

That  religion  is  a  social  phenomenon  is  already 
obvious.  But  the  term  "society"  covers  many  kinds  of 
groupings  and  many  kinds  of  group  enterprise.  We 
must  therefore  go  on  to  consider  whether  the  sociality 
of  religion  may  not  be  of  various  species.  In  particular 
we  shall  need  to  discriminate  between  the  mechanism  of 
group  action  (the  structure)  and  the  satisfactions  that 
such  action  brings  (the  functions).  In  both  the  struc- 
tural and  the  functional  direction,  in  fact,  we  shall  find 
important  differences.  They  gather  about  certain  types 
of  group  conduct  that  will  now  be  described.  Let  it  be 
remembered,  however,  that  setting  things  apart  for. 
purposes  of  description  does  not  imply  any  equal  apart- 
ness in  history.  Differences  develop  for  the  most  part 
gradually,  so  that  types  shaole  into  one  another.  More- 
over, contrasting  types  may  live  side  by  side. 

Bearing  in  mind  this  caution  as  to  the  meaning  of 
our  classification,  we  may  easily  recognize  three  chief 
types  of  religious  group  conduct. 

I.      THE  RELIGIOUS   CROWD 

i.  The  type. — Considered  as  social  grouping  and 
social  enterprise,  what  is  the  difference  between  an  old- 
fashioned  negro  revival  and  the  Edinburgh  Missionary 
Conference?  A  question  like  this  reveals  at  once  the 
existence  of  religious  crowds  as  distinguished  from  other 
religious  groups.  The  earliest  religious  group  conduct 

119 


120  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

was  undoubtedly  of  the  excited,  unreflective  type.  We 
have  similar  phenomena  in  the  Crusades,  in  the  medi- 
aeval " dancing  manias,"  in  the  "witchcraft  mania,"  and 
in  some  revivals  of  the  present  day  among  both  whites 
and  blacks — to  mention  only  a  few  instances. 

2.  The  structure  of  the  crowd,  or  how  the  crowd  form 
of  co-operation  is  effected. — What  a  man  will  do  in  a  given 
situation1  depends,  not  merely  upon  his  original  nature, 
together  with  the  items  that  might  be  attended  to  in  his 
present  situation,  but  also  upon  the  actual  distribution 
of  his  attention  over  these  items.  If,  upon  looking  at  an 
autumn  landscape,  my  attention  centers  upon  the  col- 
ored foliage,  I  act  in  one  way;  but  if  my  attention  centers 
upon  the  opening  burrs  of  a  near-by  chestnut  tree,  I  act 
in  a  different  wa^.  Now,  attention  may  be  distributed 
with  a  greater  or  less  degree  of  what  is  variously  called 
deliberation,  analysis,  and  criticism.  Deliberation  con- 
sists in  having  within  the  focus  of  attention  two  or  more 
objects  or  ideas  that  involve  opposing  tendencies  to 
action.2  An  immediate  result  of  deliberation  is  post- 

1  Students  will  find  it  worth  while  to  accustom  themselves  to 
Thorndike's  categories  of  situation  and  response.  In  order  to  understand 
an  act,  note  not  only  what  is  done,  or  the  "response"  (beginning  with 
bodily  movements,  then  going  on  to  vocal  sounds,  and  finally  to  things 
said),  but  also  the  "situation,"  which  includes  the  objects  present,  the 
bodily  states,  and  what  happened  just  before.  Having  analyzed  thus 
both  situation  and  response,  one  may  raise  the  question,  What  in  this 
act  is  due  to  original  nature,  and  what  to  antecedent  experiences  of  the 
individual  ? 

a  The  apparently  impulsive  quality  of  ideas,  sometimes  expressed 
in  the  phrase  "ideomotor  action,"  as  far  as  it  is  not  directly  instinctive, 
is  a  matter  of  habit.  Whatever  reinstates  a  part  of  a  past  experience 
tends  to  reinstate  the  whole  of  it;  the  presence  of  any  idea  involves  a 
tendency  to  the  reinstatement  of  any  activity  that  has  been  associated 
with  it. 


RELIGION  AS  GROUP  CONDUCT  121 

ponement  or  checking  of  these  tendencies.  Hence,  each 
idea  that  is  thus  attended  to  may  represent  to  us  an 
inhibition  of  a  tendency  represented  by  each  of  the  other 
ideas.  Deliberate  action  is  response  that  takes  place 
after,  and  in  a  form  determined  by,  such  preliminary 
inhibition  or  checking.  To  the  extent  that  any  response 
occurs  without  this  preliminary  inhibition  we  say  that 
it  occurs  under  suggestion  as  opposed  to  deliberation. 
Suggestion  means,  then,  determination  of  the  response 
by  narrowing  of  attention  so  that  inhibitory  items  pres- 
ent in  the  situation  are  at  least  relatively  inoperative.1 
Crowd  action,  in  the  technical  sense  of  the  term 
"crowd,"  is  co-operation  produced  by  suggestion,  that 
is,  the  suppression  of  inhibitions.  We  shall  soon  see 
that  co-operation  can  be  secured  also  by  the  reverse 
process — by  means  of  inhibitions.  An  example  of  crowd 
action  is  as  follows:  During  a  football  game  I  stood  with 

1  The  art  of  the  hypnotizer  consists  in  controlling  attention  in  the 
sense  of  narrowing  it.  What  is  the  difference,  it  may  be  asked,  between 
this  narrowing  of  attention  and  concentration  of  mind  in  study  or  other 
enterprise?  For  practical  purposes  it  is  sufficient  to  answer  that  study 
holds  on  to  differences,  while  suggestion  lets  them  go.  Theoretically 
however,  the  matter  is  not  so  easy.  The  occurrence  of  complete  mono- 
ideism  is  not  demonstrable;  attention  always  involves  a  field  and  a 
focus,  that  is,  both  multiplicity  and  selection.  The  selection  that 
constitutes  study  and  the  selection  that  constitutes  suggestion  are, 
structurally  considered,  continuous.  There  is  no  precise  dividing  line 
between  one's  ordinary  state  and  hypnosis.  That  a  distinction,  an 
inexpugnable  one,  remains,  however,  is  clear.  I  surmise  that  the 
difference  between  the  "normal"  and  the  hypnotized  individual,  be- 
tween waking  and  sleeping,  and  even  between  perception  and  halluci- 
nation, can  be  expressed  only  by  reference  to  the  distinction  between 
greater  and  less  self-realization.  That  is,  the  distinction  goes  back 
ultimately  to  the  preferential  functions.  It  follows,  of  course,  that 
what  is  above  designated  as  "the  structure  of  the  crowd"  involves  and 
depends  upon  a  functional  distinction. 


122  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

many  other  persons  at  a  certain  part  of  the  side  line. 
We  were  all  sympathizers  with  the  home  team.  As  the 
game  grew  exciting,  we  who  were  next  to  the  rope 
grasped  it  firmly  and  pulled  hard  in  the  direction  in 
which  our  team  was  struggling  to  go.  We  had  no  pur- 
pose in  pulling,  and  most  of  us  never  discovered  what 
we  were  doing.  We  were  a  crowd — that  is,  a  mass  of 
minds  with  attention  narrowed  to  a  single  interest,  and 
consequently  acting  as  one.  The  unity  depended  upon 
lack  of  inhibitions. 

Such  reduction  of  inhibitions  may  occur  precisely 
because  men  are  together  in  one  place,  (a)  The  many, 
merely  as  sensory  objects  moving  and  making  sounds, 
excite  me  and  tend  to  dominate  my  attention,  (b)  The 
mere  presence  of  others  of  my  species  awakens  in  me  a 
gregarious  response  that  is  pleasurable — I  thrill,  fix  my 
eyes  upon  them,  move  toward  them,  follow  them  about. 
The  pleasure  here  involved  also  reinforces  any  other 
tendencies  to  action  that  may  happen  to  be  present. 

(c)  Conversation,  passing  back  and  forth,  further  helps 
to  fix  the  attention  of  the  many  upon  the  same  things. 

(d)  Some   individual,  either   by  design  or  under  the 
excitement  of  the  situation,  makes  a  speech  or  expresses 
a  sentiment  or  proposes  action  or  initiates  action  that 
focuses  attention  still  more  completely.    From  this  com- 
mon focus  of  attention,  which  is  excited  and  emotional, 
arises  the  common  act. 

Each  sort  of  crowd  action  arises  in  the  first  instance 
spontaneously.  But  some  sorts  at  least  can  be  reinstated 
by  a  designed  reproduction  of  appropriate  conditions,  as 
in  football  games,  revival  meetings,  or  primitive  religious 
ceremonies.  On  such  occasions  an  additional  factor  is 


RELIGION  AS  GROUP  CONDUCT  123 

the  mental  representation  of  previous  crowd  experience. 
What  has  happened  before  easily  determines  the  present 
focus  of  attention  and  therefore  the  fresh  response. 
Thus  it  is  that  fashions  of  crowd  action  arise.1  There 
are  styles  in  revivals — styles  not  only  of  singing,  praying, 
and  preaching,  but  also  of  response  thereto.  Dancing, 
shouting,  and  "the  power"  are  renewed  season  after 
season  in  negro  meetings.  Similarly,  different  revival 
waves  among  the  whites  have  produced  different  types 
of  conversion.  A  study  of  laughter  in  these  movements 
would  undoubtedly  show  the  prevalence  of  a  fashion  for 
a  time,  and  then  a  shift,  each  fashion  seeming  to  be 
most  natural  while  it  lasts.  In  the  Billy  Sunday  meet- 
ings many  church  people  of  the  present  day,  both  laymen 
and  ministers,  lay  aside  their  ordinary  standards  of 
taste,  courtesy,  reverence,  kindliness,  and  theological 
consistency.  The  shock  that  this  revivalist's  standards 
once  caused  has  now  been  replaced  by  habitual  com- 
placency— a  crowd  fashion  has  been  created.  By  a 
parallel  process  the  primitive  religious  crowd  moved 
forward  from  what  was  spontaneous  and  unplanned  to 
custom,  specifically  the  punctilious  ceremony. 

Crowd  action  tends,  in  general,  toward  the  sim- 
plicity of  instinct,  for  unity  is  here  attained  by  rendering 
individual  variations  inoperative.  Nevertheless,  habits 
that  are  common  to  the  individuals  in  a  group  play  a 

1  At  the  baseball  games  of  a  certain  college  I  observed  repeatedly  a 
sudden  and  general  increase  of  excitement  on  the  bleachers  when  the 
seventh  inning  started.  "The  bloody  seventh,"  it  was  called.  This 
odd  fashion  appears  to  have  had  its  origin  in  the  fact  that  on  one  or 
two  occasions  the  home  team,  after  being  outplayed  in  the  earlier  innings, 
made  a  marked  rally  in  the  seventh.  Many  other  examples  of  crowd 
fashions  could  easily  be  found  in  our  athletics. 


124  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

part.  How  is  it  that  such  ideas  as  "  Jerusalem,"  the 
"holy  sepulcher,"  "Turk,"  "infidel,"  could  start  a  cru- 
sade ?  It  is  because  of  certain  already  established  habits 
of  thought  and  of  action.  If  crusades  are  no  longer 
possible,  it  is  because  our  background  of  habits  is  dif- 
ferent. On  the  other  hand,  an  individual's  habits  may 
be  profoundly  interrupted,  as  in  many  conversions,  by 
his  experience  as  a  member  of  a  crowd.  What  happens 
in  this  case  is  the  arousal  of  a  still  more  ingrained  habit, 
or  else  of  instinct  itself.1 

3.  Functions  of  the  religious  crowd. — Our  discussion 
of  crowd  structure  has  prepared  us  for  the  following 
brief  catalogue  of  the  satisfactions  involved:  (a)  Satis- 
faction of  the  gregarious  instinct,  (b)  Release  from 
monotony  and  routine  through  fresh  sensations  and 
emotions,  (c)  Pleasurable  sense  of  elevation,  freedom, 
even  sublimity.  It  arises  from  the  unification  of  mind 
through  the  suppression  of  inhibitions.  Hesitations, 
cares,  responsibilities,  vanish.  One  feels  one's  self  burst- 
ing through  limitations  and  becoming  one  with  a  great, 
not  definitely  bounded  reality.  Note  that  this  sense  of 
elevation  is  attained,  not  by  solving  problems,  but  by 
forgetting  them.  The  physiological  correlate  is  unifica- 
tion of  motor  discharge  by  simplification  rather  than  by 
organization.  A  crowd  cannot  exercise  skill,  (d)  Indul- 
gence of  other  instinctive  impulses,  as  those  of  sex  and 
of  pugnacity.  The  Roman  bacchanalia,  in  which  in- 
stinct assumed  the  throne,  will  serve  as  an  example. 

1  When  a  crowd  of  Christians  applauds  a  revivalist  for  picturesquely 
assigning  to  a  savage  hell  persons  who  disagree  with  his  theology,  what 
happens  is  a  flaring  up  of  instinctive  pugnacity — the  same  thing  that 
makes  men  enjoy  a  dog  fight. 


RELIGION  AS  GROUP  CONDUCT  125 

(e)  The  primitive  crowd,  as  the  beginning  of  human 
co-operation,  made  the  food  supply  more  stable  and 
social  relations  more  dependable.  The  general  efficiency 
was  heightened  by  the  massing  of  energy.  (/)  At  any 
stage  of  civilization  enterprises  that  do  not  require  dis- 
crimination can  be  advanced  by  crowd  action.  Thus 
it  is  that  revivals  of  the  crowd  type  can  reinforce  com- 
mon morality.  For  the  same  reason,  however,  they  can 
reinforce  the  authority  of  dogma  and  help  keep  intoler- 
ance alive.  But  reconstruction  of  standards,  as  dis- 
tinguished from  enforcement  of  standards,  requires 
deliberation. 

Here  we  come  upon  a  profound  limitation  of  the 
term  "society"  as  applied  to  a  crowd.  The  fact  that 
men  act  together  is  no  guaranty  that  their  acts  are 
social  rather  than  unsocial  in  motive  and  end.  Crowds 
are  notoriously  cruel,  notoriously  unregardful  of  the 
moral  standards  that  are  the  later  and  finer  product  of 
social  evolution.  If  the  leadership  happens  to  be  in  the 
hands  of  a  morally  discriminating  person,  the  crowd 
may,  indeed,  be  led  toward  truly  social  ends,  but  power 
as  a  leader  does  not  depend  upon  moral  discrimination. 
Therefore  the  evolution  of  social  standards,  as  far  as 
this  implies  increasing  regard  of  men  for  one  another 
and  disciplined  action  in  behalf  of  this  regard,  depends 
upon  supplanting  the  crowd  form  of  organization  by 
some  other  principle  of  integration. 

II.      THE  JACERDOTAL  GROUP 

i.  The  type. — When  a  ceremonial  system  becomes 
well  established,  a  new  principle  of  group  conduct 
appears.  Co-operative  action  no  longer  waits  for  the 


126  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

emotional  realizations  that  mark  the  crowd.  Whether 
such  realizations  are  present  or  not,  group  action  goes 
forward.  A  specialized  control  has  been  organized  in 
such  forms  as  priesthoods,  traditions  and  sacred  for- 
mulae, sacred  scriptures,  dogma  (that  is,  authoritative 
teaching).  For  short,  we  may  say  that  this  type  of 
grouping  rests  upon  authority.  The  divine  being  makes 
himself  known,  not  directly  to  the  members  of  the 
group,  but  through  a  particular  organ,  and  this  organ 
not  seldom  enforces  its  authority  by  means  of  fears 
and  even  of  physical  penalties.  For  examples  of  the 
sacerdotal  group,  we  may  look  to  the  organized  tribal 
religions,  to  the  national  religions,1  and  to  all  churches 
that  endeavor  to  enforce  as  final  a  particular  form 
of  worship,  or  of  ecclesiastical  government,  or  of 
doctrine. 

2.  The  structure  of  the  sacerdotal  group. — How  is  the 
unity  of  the  sacerdotal  group  brought  about?  Not  by 
desultory  crowd  suggestion,  nor  yet  by  deliberation 
among  the  members  of  the  group,  but  by  systematized 
suggestion  through  sacrifice  and  sacrament,  ritual,  a 
code  of  commands  and  prohibitions,  and  religious  educa- 
tion of  a  particular  type. 

The  earliest  religious  rites  were,  from  the  standpoint 
of  the  people,  actual  participation  by  them  in  doing  the 
thing  that  needed  to  be  done.  When,  in  the  later  temple 
sacrifice,  the  thing  comes  to  be  done  for  them,  a  new  kind 
of  control  is  set  up  over  them.  Through  the  priest  the 
people  approach  the  god;  through  the  priest  the  god 

1  All  national  religions  are  perforce  religions  of  authority.  They 
participate  in  the  exercise  of  sovereignty  through  taxation  if  in  no 
other  way. 


RELIGION  AS  GROUP  CONDUCT  127 

approaches  the  people.  Traditional  lore,  priestly  wis- 
dom, and  political  expediency  become  an  organized 
authority,  having  a  continuous  life  of  its  own.  Its 
method  of  control  is  reiterated,  systematized  suggestion, 
primarily  through  such  outward  acts  as  sacrifice,  around 
which  common  hopes  and  joys  are  made  to  center. 
Sacrifice  gives  way  in  many  places  to  mystery-cult  and 
sacrament,  in  which  only  a  few  material  traces  of  their 
origins  remain,  as  an  ear  of  corn,  a  bit  of  bread,  a  cup 
of  wine,  a  drop  of  oil  or  of  water,  a  touch  upon  the  head. 
But  these  are  now  the  outward  expressions  whereby 
an  articulated  doctrine  controls  the  people  through 
suggestion.  By  suggestion  from  the  priest  the  wor- 
shipers are  assured,  for  example,  that  the  god  is 
present  in  the  wine-cup  that  their  eyes  behold,  or 
that  some  new  relation  to  God  is  effected  by  a  touch 
or  by  baptismal  water.  Thus  the  people,  whether 
they  betake  themselves  to  the  temple  by  two's  and 
three's  or  by  hundreds,  are  made  one  in  the  unity 
of  a  doctrine  that  exists  independently  of  their 
will. 

In  sacerdotal  worship  the  sacrament  is  reinforced  by 
other  parts  of  the  ritual.  Here  the  priest  works  uponj 
the  people  by  suggestion  through  what  is  recognized  by 
them  as  partly,  though  not  exclusively,  symbolical. 
Pictures  and  statues,  processions,  kneeling,  bowing, 
crossing  one's  self,  the  Latin  of  the  mass,  intoned  psalms 
and  prayers,  the  repetition  of  ancient  creeds — these  are 
one  and  all  instruments  of  "suggestion.  They  are  not 
used  because  they  promote  reflection  and  deliberate 
action,  but  because  they  bring  attention  back  repeatedly 
to  the  same  point,  thus  renewing  control  by  what  is 


128  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

already  authoritatively  fixed.1  Tendencies  toward  sacer- 
dotal grouping  can  sometimes  be  discerned  in  a  change 
from  "saying"  to  intoning  the  Lord's  Prayer,  the 
Prayer  of  Confession,  and  the  Creed;  perhaps  also  in 
singing,  instead  of  reading,  the  psalms.  Here  the  con- 
tent, which  was  at  first  an  expression  of  discriminative 
thinking,  not  only  ceases  to  awaken  like  thoughts,  but 
becomes  an  instrument  of  suggestion  whereby  the  wor- 
shiper's mind  is  bent  to  the  ideas  of  the  ecclesiastical 
authorities. 

The  sacerdotal  group  is  kept  together,  in  the  next 
place,  by  a  code  of  commands  and  prohibitions,  which 
may  include  matters  of  belief  as  well  as  of  conduct.  In 
respect  to  conduct,  ethical  duties  (which  have  to  do 
with  the  social  weal)  stand  side  by  side  in  all  such  codes 
with  ceremonial  prescriptions  whose  derivation  from 
taboo  is  much  more  direct  (as  those  that  concern  the 
superior  sanctity  of  certain  places,  times,  words,  doc- 
trines, and  sacramental  acts).  The  whole  is  enforced 
by  the  sanction  of  pains  and  pleasures  attached  to  dis- 
obedience and  obedience,  respectively,  by  the  will  of  a 
divinity.  Here  again  suggestion,  largely  in  the  exceed- 
ingly effective  form  of  direct  command,  is  the  mode  of 
group  unification  and  control.  Reflection  may  be  en- 
couraged within  limits,  particularly  in  the  way  of  denning 
and  applying  the  prescribed  rules,  but  the  ultimate  is 
always  authority  (as  of  revelation  contained  in  an 
ancient  literature,  or  uttered  through  a  living  priest). 

1  This  does  not  apply  to  all  use  of  liturgical  forms  or  to  all  use  of 
religious  symbols.  As  the  quiet  of  one's  study,  the  presence  of  books,  and 
the  sight  of  one's  desk  stimulate  intellectual  work,  so  liturgical  forms 
may  be  constructed  so  as  to  produce  reflection  and  deliberation  as 
distinguished  from  mere  contemplation. 


RELIGION  AS  GROUP  CONDUCT  129 

Therefore   the  ultimate  psychological  method  of  the 
sacerdotal  group  life  is  suggestion. 

In  the  more  developed  sacerdotal  groups  perpetuity 
of  control  is  sought  through  diligent  instruction  of  the 
young.  Instruction,  one  might  suppose,  would  control 
less  by  suggestion  than  by  awakening  reflection.  If  we 
look,  however,  at  ancient  Jewish  schools,  or  at  Moslem 
schools,  we  shall  see  that  drilling  certain  formulae  into 
the  pupil's  memory  is  the  central  and  essential  thing  in 
the  work  of  the  teacher;  and  in  the  sacerdotal  branches 
of  Christianity  we  shall  find  that  habit-formation  in 
thought  and  conduct,  on  the  basis  of  direct  command  / 
(whether  it  is  fully  expressed  or  not),  is  the  essence  of  in- 
structional method,  reflection  being  employed  only  under 
the  strictest  predetermination  of  its  main  conclusions. 

3.  Functions  of  the  sacerdotal  group. — It  is  evident  at 
a  glance  that  religion  in  this  form  may  contribute  to  any 
of  the  satisfactions  of  tribal  and  national  existence.  For 
example,  in  the  wars  of  Israel,  and  in  the  European  war 
that  is  raging  as  these  words  are  written,  religion 
strengthens  the  courage  and  solidifies  the  obedience  of 
the  soldiers.  For  each  army  feels  sure  that  God  is  on 
its  side.  In  both  cases  the  soldiers  are  incited  to  a  lim- 
ited amount  of  reflection  by  having  their  attention  called 
to  the  wickedness  of  the  enemy;  in  both  cases  the  indi- 
viduals feel  that  they  are  freely  devoting  themselves  to 
a  cause;  but  in  both  cases  the  cause  is  chosen  for  them, 
not  by  them.  That  the  method  whereby  religion  here 
produces  its  social  effect  is  suggestion  rather  than  reflec- 
tion might  be  inferred  directly  from  the  fact  that  the 
national  point  of  view,  whatever  it  is,  is  sure  to  be  rein- 
forced through  the  exercises  of  religion.  Prayer,  hymn, 


130  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

mass,  sermon,  have  the  effect  of  removing  inhibitions 
and  narrowing  attention  upon  a  predetermined  set  of 
ideas  and  interests.  Here  sacerdotalism  reveals  its  true 
and  uniform  kinship  with  the  military  type  of  social 
organization.  The  power  of  a  regiment  may  be  aug- 
mented by  speech-making  and  exhortation,  but  these 
are  not  fundamental;  they  are  only  accessory  to  the 
basal  ground  of  unity,  which  is  that  a  few  command 
what  seems  good  to  them,  and  the  many  obey.  Just  so, 
the  religious  group  conduct  now  under  consideration 
may  include  argument,  persuasion,  emotional  revivals, 
and  willing  devotion  on  the  part  of  individuals,  but  all 
these  are  produced  by  and  on  behalf  of  an  authority 
that,  in  the  last  analysis,  resides  in  one  or  a  few  persons 
who  command  what  seems  to  them  good.  The  relation 
between  this  " seeming  good"  to  the  authoritative  few 
and  the  correlative  " seeming  good"  to  the  obedient 
many  constitutes  the  special  problem  of  the  functions 
of  the  sacerdotal  group. 

The  processes  of  suggestion  just  referred  to  prevail 
also  in  various  ecclesiastical  groups  that  no  longer  fuse 
religious  authority  with  the  sovereignty  of  the  state. 
The  functions,  however,  are  similar,  namely,  the  rein- 
forcement of  any  interest  that  presents  itself  by  means 
of  the  organs  of  authority.  These  interests  commonly 
attach  themselves  to  some  tradition  or  historical  incident 
in  which  the  authority  of  a  god  is  supposed  to  be  con- 
ferred upon  a  human  individual  or  organization.  Now 
and  then  a  fresh  revelation  is  claimed  and  a  new  sacer- 
dotal authority  set  up,  as  in  the  cases  of  Joseph  Smith, 
Mrs.  Eddy,  and  John  Alexander  Dowie  ("  Elijah  II"). 
These  must  be  added  to  the  more  ancient  instances 


RELIGION  AS  GROUP  CONDUCT  131 

of  authority,  whether  in  Israel,  or  in  Islam,  or  in  Chris- 
tian history,  if  we  would  obtain  an  adequate  notion  of 
the  satisfactions  that  keep  alive  the  sacerdotal  group. 
These  satisfactions  may  be  summed  up  as  a  sense  of 
individual  salvation  through  conformity  to  a  fixed  social 
standard,  whether  of  belief  or  of  practice.     "  Sense  of 
individual  salvation"  is  to  be  understood  as  including 
relief  of  functional  disorders  through  faith  or  other  con- 
formity to  authority;  confidence  that  one  is  to  succeed 
in  business;    victory  over  habits  recognized  as  evil; 
release  from  fears  (awakened  to  a  large  extent  by  the 
very  authority  that  allays  them),  as  from  the  fear  of 
future  retribution;    enjoyment  of  prospective  bliss  in 
heaven;     gregarious    satisfaction,    and    the    elevation 
already  described  in  connection  with  the  religious  crowd. 
What  distinguishes  these  functions  from  those  of  the 
religious  crowd  is  the  fact  that,  whereas  in  crowd  action  j 
the  self  is  inhibited,  in  the  sacerdotal  group  it  is  recog-  ^ 
nized.     On    the   other   hand,   what   distinguishes   the  |-\ 
sacerdotal  group  from  the  deliberative  group,  which  is  I 
now  to  be  considered,  is  a  difference  in  the  sort  of  recog-  ' 
nition  given  to  the  individual,  and  the  consequences  that 
flow  from  this  difference. 

III.      THE  DELIBERATIVE  GROUP 

i.  Type  and  structure. — In  deliberative  bodies  we 
find  a  kind  of  group  conduct  that  is  vastly  different  from 
the  two  types  already  described.  For,  as  a  preliminary 
to  each  common  act  the  entire  group  pauses,  the  chair- 
man saying,  "Are  there  any  remarks?"  Then,  as  if 
challenging  each  individual  to  full  self-expression,  he 
asks,  "Are  you  ready  for  the  motion  ?"  This  procedure 


132  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

has  been  devised  so  as  to  prevent  action  under  sug- 
gestion. Individual  inhibitions  are  not  avoided  or 
/  suppressed,  but  invited,  spread  out  for  inspection,  often 
acted  upon  separately  by  dividing  the  question  or  by 
voting  upon  proposed  amendments.  Moreover,  pro- 
vision is  made  for  several  alternatives  besides  yes  and 
no,  as  reference  to  a  committee,  laying  on  the  table,  and 
making  a  special  order  for  a  future  meeting.  The  degree 
and  rapidity  of  variation  are  indeed  restricted  in  most 
such  bodies  by  constitutions  and  by-laws.  Yet  these 
also  come  into  being  through  deliberation,  and  they  con- 
tain provisions  for  amendments — that  is,  they  invite 
individual  initiative  with  a  view  to  reorganization  of 
the  group.1 

\  Here,  then,  we  have  a  group  that  achieves  unity  by 
means  of  the  very  thing  that  might  be  expected  to  pre-l 
vent  united  action,  namely,  the  free  variation  of  thought! 
and  desire  among  its  members.  The  unity  of  a  crowd 
depends  upon  preventing  its  members  from  acting  as 
individuals;  the  unity  of  a  sacerdotal  group  depends 
upon  prescribing  in  advance  how  the  individual  shall  act; 
the  unity  of  the  deliberative  group  is  achieved  by  the 
\  heightening  and  the  freeing  of  individuality. 

This  structural  principle  appears  in  religion  itself. 
The  Edinburgh  Missionary  Conference,  for  example, 
which  was  regarded  by  the  participants  as  a  profound 
religious  experience,  achieved  its  great  religiousness  pre- 
cisely by  frank  recognition  of  the  variant  elements 
present.  The  range  of  deliberation,  which  was  here 

1  One  ecclesiastical  constitution  known  to  me  has  an  article  on 
amendments  that  excepts  from  amendment  a  certain  section  of  another 
article.  But  this  section  could  be  amended  by  first  amending  the  article 
on  amendments  so  as  to  remove  the  restriction. 


\ 


RELIGION  AS  GROUP  CONDUCT  133 

restricted  by  common  consent,  is  theoretically  unlimited 
in  various  religious  meetings  and  bodies,  both  local  and 
general,  that  choose  their  ends  and  their  methods  by 
vote  of  the  members.  These  are  religious  groups;  their 
enterprises  are  religious,  and  their  proceedings  constitute 
social  religious  experience.1 

The  structure  of  such  groups  may  be  summarily 
described  as  involving  two  principles:  First,  through 
pauses,  incitements  to  reflection,  and  the  pitting  of 
desires  against  one  another,  the  individual  is  stimulated 
to  self-discovery — the  discovery  of  what  it  is  that  he 
really  prefers.  Here  is  organization  of  a  self,  not  sup- 
pression or  mere  manipulation.  Secondly,  by  the  same 
means  the  individual  is  stimulated  to  use  the  desires  of 
i  others  as  data  for  determining  his  own  preferences.  He 
is  listened  to,  but  he  also  listens.  In  one  and  the  same 
process  he  gets  acquainted  with  others  and  with  himself, 
and  he  forms  a  social  will  that  is  yet  his  own  discrimi- 
native will. 

2.  Functions  of  the  deliberative  group. — Whereas  in 
groups  of  the  other  two  types  ends  are  imposed  either  j 
by  instinct  or  by  suggestion,  in  the  deliberative  group 
the  membership  as  a  whole  freely  chooses  and  defines 
V^jts  own  functions.  The  ends  actually  chosen  may  and 
do  include  much  that  is  derived  from  sacerdotal  tradi- 
tions. Instinctive  satisfactions,  too — as  of  the  social 
instincts — are  always  a  factor.  Yet  in  the  ethical  group 
a  fresh  type  of  satisfaction  secures  an  organ — the  satis- 
faction of  freely  weighing  and  criticizing  satisfactions.  ' 

1  It  involves  no  stretching  of  terms  to  say  that  listening  to  a  statis- 
tical report  from  a  church  society  is  a  religious  act.  For  surely  the 
point  of  view,  the  motive,  and  the  meaning  of  the  act  determine  its 
proper  classification. 


134  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

Since  this  weighing  is  a  social  act  that  looks  toward  the 
determination  of  social  ends,  it  follows  that  the  distinc- 
tive function  of  the  ethical  group  is  the  criticism  and 
reconstruction  of  society  itself  through  the  free  acts  of 
its  members.  Crowd  action  may  assist  social  reconstruc- 
tion, but  only  accidentally.  Sacerdotal  authority  also 
may  assist,  but  with  equal  right  (which  it  fails  not  to 
exercise)  it  may  close  the  doors  of  social  criticism.  But 
in  the  deliberative  group  we  have  a  structure  that  arises 
and  maintains  itself  precisely  by  inviting  criticism  and 
proposals  for  reconstruction. 

The  adoption  of  this  reconstructive  attitude,  however 
gradually  it  may  occur,  and  with  whatever  compromises 
with  tradition,  gives  a  new  meaning  to  ideals  and  to 
faith.  Under  sacerdotalism  an  ideal  is  a  pattern  to  be 
copied;  the  idealizing  process  consists  in  making  the 
pattern  vivid,  and  faith  is  acceptance  of  the  authority 
that  imposes  the  pattern.  In  the  deliberative  group,  on 
the  other  hand,  patterns  are  themselves  judged,  and 
there  is  provision  for  change  that  implies,  if  it  does  not 
assert,  creative  evolution  in  the  social  sphere.  Here  an 
ideal  is  ri(5t"a  set  pattern,  but  a  direction  of  movement,  j 
and  faith  is  not  conformity,  but  the  will  to  idealize  and 
to  control  the  actual  by  means  of  the  ideal. 

Common  worship,  under  such  social  standards,  tends 
to  acquire  a  character  of  its  own.  It  stimulates  the 
worshiper  to  reflect,  that  is,  to  have  his  own  thoughts, 
to  know  his  own  mind,  and  to  realize  differences.  Hence, 
in  denominations  that  most  approximate  the  delibera- 
tive type  of  government,  there  is  avoidance  of  foreign 
tongues,  of  intonation,  and  of  the  spectacular.  A  larger 
proportion  of  words  is  used  after  the  ordinary  manner 


RELIGION  AS  GROUP  CONDUCT  135 

of  communication  rather  than  as  symbols  of  something 
that  they  do  not  say.  The  minister  in  his  prayer  en- 
deavors to  represent  the  aspirations  of  the  group.' 
Finally,  the  sermon  plays  a  larger  part.  The  tendency 
of  all  this  is  to  make  the  worshiper  realize  himself  as 
an  individual. 

Conversely,  the  divine  being  who  is  conceived  as 
the  head  of  the  group  tends  to  be  less  and  less  a  chief  j- 
or  king — even  though  a  condescending  one.  Something  ) 
more  intimate  seems  to  be  required,  some  closer  partici- 
pation with  men.  Such  participation  is  found  in  the 
special  sort  of  ideals  that  the  deliberative  group  commits 
itself  to.  The  divine  being,  instead  of  merely  giving 
commands,  inspires  the  idealizing  that  judges  all  com- 
mands. He  is  the  inner  pressure  that  causes  the  question- 
ing of  standards.  Therefore  he  is  the  chief  worker  in  the 
group  rather  than  a  mere  master  of  those  who  work. 

In  the  deliberative  society  religious  education  al 
tends  to  acquire  a  quality  of  its  own.  Mere  instruction 
and  mere  drill  no  longer  suffice,  for  the  end  is  not  static. 
Mere  drill,  resulting  in  habit  only,  provides  of  itself  for 
nothing  but  repetition  of  the  past.  Instruction,  too,  as 
long  as  it  aims  merely  to  transmit  an  existing  body  of 
ideas,  lacks  the  forward  impulse.  Hence  it  is  that  reli- 
gious bodies  that  tend  most  toward  the  deliberative 
type  have  insisted  most  upon  personal  assimilation,  or/ 
upon  a  decision,  or  an  experience  of  one's  very  own. 
Exact  dogmatic  formulae,  accordingly,  are  less  empha- 
sized, and  content,  meaning,  historical  setting,  and 
exegesis  are  more  prominent.  These  groups  accept,  too, 
with  less  reserve,  the  educational  doctrines  of  interest, 
initiative,  and  freedom. 


CHAPTER  IX 
RELIGION  AS  INDIVIDUAL  CONDUCT 

The  three  types  of  religious  group  conduct  that  have 
just 'occupied  our  attention  present  to  us  the  individual 
also  in  three  typical  religious  attitudes. 

First,  we  have  the  impulsive  individual,  who  is  saved 
from  anarchy  of  desire  by  crowd  integration.  Neither 
instinct  alone,  nor  yet  external  compulsion,  guides  and 
restrains  him,  but  a  new  experience  which  by  virtue  of 
the  presence  of  others  brings  fresh  satisfaction. 

Next  we  have,  in  the  sacerdotal  group,  the  regulated 
individual.  Rules  of  conduct  and  of  belief  now  serve 
as  a  constant  corrective  or  restraint  of  impulse.  One 
stops  to  consider  what  will  happen  if  one  acts  in  this 
way  or  in  that.  Foresight  of  rewards  and  punishments 
produces  present  satisfactions  and  discomforts,  so  that 
habits  are  formed  with  reference  to  what  is  remote  as 
well  as  to  what  is  near,  and  the  individual  attains  a 
larger  internal  organization. 

Finally,  in  the  deliberative  group  we  come  upon  the 
self-emancipating  individual.  He  emancipates  himself, 
not  by  destroying  social  control  and  organization  of  his 
acts,  but  by  overcoming  the  former  separation  between 
conduct  and  the  ends  of  conduct  that  characterizes  the 
sacerdotal  group.  Deliberation  is  the  search  for  adequate 
ends,  so  that  conduct  may  be  controlled  wholly  from 
within  itself;  and  " adequate  ends"  are  those  that  have 
social  validity. 

136 


RELIGION  AS  INDIVIDUAL  CONDUCT          137 

Not  a  few  writers  have  seen  that  religion  is  a  mode 
of  social  control  of  individuals,  but  inasmuch  as  the 
varieties  of  such  control  have  remained  undescribed, 
distorted  views  of  individual  conduct  have  resulted.  In 
particular,  religion  has  been  regarded  as  essentially 
restraint  of  individual  variation.  Reason,  which  is 
individual,  tends  to  variation;  hence  religion  resists 
reason,  it  is  said.1  Again,  religion  is  an  inner  control 
that  holds  the  individual  to  social  standards  when 
external  social  pressure  is  absent — a  governing  instinct.2 
According  to  this  theory,  religion  does  not  create 
standards  or  determine  ends,  but  is  altogether  ancillary 
thereto.  It  is  simply  a  check  to  individual  action,  a 
postponement,  which  gives  the  more  ancient,  racial 
impulses  an  opportunity  to  come  to  the  front.  The 
religious  reaction,  since  it  is  essentially  repressive,  is 
uniformly  painful. 

The  facts  that  are  offered  in  support  of  this  theory 
are  such  as  these:  the  prevalence  of  asceticism  in  reli- 
gion; withdrawal  from  activity  and  from  individual 
effort  in  prayer;  and  the  muscular  retractations  that 
are  characteristic  of  worship,  such  as  bowing,  kneeling, 
closing  the  eyes,  and  drawing  one's  self  together  in  medi- 
tation.3 The  inference  from  muscular  retractations 
rests  upon  the  general  principle  that  states  of  satisfaction 
are  characteristically  expressed  by  the  expansor  muscles, 
and  states  of  dissatisfaction  by  the  flexor. 

1  Benjamin  Kidd,  Social  Evolution  (New  York,  1898),  chap.  v. 

aH.  R.  Marshall,  Instinct  and  Reason  (New  York,  1898).  See 
also  his  article  "Religion:  A  Triologue,"  in  The  Outlook,  CIX  (March 
10,  1915),  587-93- 

*  Instinct  and  Reason,  pp.  330  f. 


138  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

That  this  theory  contains  a  truth  but  distorts  it  will 
appear  from  the  following  considerations: 

1.  Religious  rites  have  been  very  largely  joyous,  even 
taking  the  form  of  feasting,  games,  and  various  social 
pleasures,  as  at  the  awakening  of  spring  or  the  ingather- 
ing of  the  harvest. 

2.  Intense  individual  religious  experience  very  often 
exhibits  two  successive  phases,  strain  and  release.    The 
strain  may  involve  sense  of  sin,  or  some  fear,  or  sense  of 
incompleteness,  or  of  divided  self,  or  of  world-mystery 
and  world-pain;  the  release  has  the  correlative  forms  of 
sense  of  reconciliation,  confidence,  unified  self,  power, 
a  world-light  that  shines  through  the  world-darkness. 
Here  religion  is  release  from  repression. 

3.  In  multitudes  of  cases  religious  experience  in- 
volves no  marked  crisis  of  strain  and  release,  but  rather 
a  reaching  toward  a  goal,   the  enlargement  of  one's 
scope,  the  fresh  discovery  of  one's  powers  and  of  one's 
world. 

Before  naming  the  fourth  point  it  will  be  well  to 
note  that  two  authors,  working  from  different  angles, 
come  to  much  the  same  conclusion  as  to  the  effect  of 
religious  experiences  upon  the  individual.  James,  whose 
cases  involved  many  a  strain,  comes  to  the  conclusion 
that  religious  feeling  is,  on  the  whole,  "a  'sthenic'  affec- 
tion, an  excitement  of  the  cheerful,  expansive  ' dynamo- 
genie'  order  which,  like  any  tonic,  freshens  our  vital 
powers We  have  seen  how  this  emotion  over- 
comes temperamental  melancholy  and  imparts  endur- 
ance to  the  subject,  or  a  zest,  or  a  meaning,  or  an 
enchantment  and  glory  to  the  common  objects  of  life."1 

1  The  Varieties  of  Religious  Experience,  p.  505. 


RELIGION  AS  INDIVIDUAL  CONDUCT          139 

Delacroix's  intensive  study  of  several  great  mystics 
yields  parallel  results.  The  mystic's  progress  was  found 
to  include  periods  of  intense  strain  but  ultimate  release. 
The  movement  in  each  case  was  from  a  relatively  unor- 
ganized, obstructed,  largely  painful  experience  to  se- 
renity, steadiness,  and  increased  power  for  action. 

4.  Many  religious  reactions  use  the  expansor  muscles, 
as  processions  and  dances,  song,  laughter,   the  light- 
ened step  that  follows  prayer,  the  friendlier  relations 
between  men. 

5.  Many  of  the  retractations  mentioned  by  Marshall 
have  acquired  psychic  connotations  different  from  the 
original  ones.    It  is  no  uncommon  thing  for  meanings  to 
flow  faster  than  external  forms.    Think  how  the  meaning 
of  the  following  terms  used  in  letter-writing  has  been 
transformed:  "sir,"  "madam,"  "your  obedient  servant," 
"yours."    Just  so  the  bow,  which  was  originally,  per- 
haps, a  sign  of  submission,  is  now  something  entirely 
different.    So  it  comes  to  pass  that  kneeling,  which  may 
have  originated  as  abasement  before  a  conqueror,  has 
become  with  many  persons  the  posture  of  prayer  in 
general,  even  the  joyful  prayer  of  thanksgiving. 

6.  Anyone  who  will  take  the  trouble  to  watch  persons 
who,   withdrawing  from   the   activities   and  from   the 
sensory  stimuli  of  our  hurly-burly  life,  enter  a  church 
and  assume  the  postures  of  meditation  and  prayer,  will 
be  convinced  that  the  whole  constitutes,  on  the  mus- 
cular side,  relaxation  of  strains.    These  strains  are  not 
the  same  as  ^Oie*"  contractions  essential  for  muscular 
work,  but  rather  contractions  of  muscles  that  have  no 
work  to  do,  or  contractions  beyond  the  requirements  of 
the  work  in  hand.    They  constitute  on  the  physical  side 


140  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

obstructions  and  wastes,  and  their  mental  correlate  is 
hurry,  worry,  distraction,  and  general  discomfort.  The 
act  of  merely  "Jetting  go"  these  tense  muscles  brings 
relief,  an  immediate  satisfaction.  There  are  probably 
several  reasons  for  this  satisfaction,  but  one  of  them 
is  certainly  contained  in  the  general  law  that  obstructed 
motor  activity  is  disagreeable,  but  harmonious,  un- 
obstructed activity  agreeable.  Of  much  worship  at 
least  we  can  say  that  it  is  an  organizing  of  the  individual, 
and  therefore  agreeable.  And  the  result  is  not  merely 
increased  confidence,  but  also  actual  increase  of  effect- 
iveness through  focalization  of  attention.  In  other 
words,  postures  that  may  have  originated  in  repression 
are  now  means  for  releasing  the  individual  and  increasing 
his  capacity  for  self-assertion.1 

7.  In  the  deliberative  religious  group  we  have  a 
social  force  that  not  only  does  not  repress  the  individual 
but  even  invites  and  stimulates  him  to  self-utterance 
and  to  further  self-discovery. 

Clearly,  then,  the  facts  are  over-simplified  when 
religion  is  regarded  as  simply  an  instrument  whereby 
society  controls  individuals.  Neither  society  nor  the 
individual  is  a  static  thing,  either  controlled  or  control- 
ling, but  both  are  in  process  of  forming  themselves.  In 
the  merely  general  statement  that  religion  is  a  social 
phenomenon,  we  leave  unmentioned  on  the  one  hand 

1  So  well-marked  is  this  aspect  of  worship  that  letting  go  one's 
tensions  has  almost  become  of  itself  a  religion.  I  refer  not  only  to 
books  on  psycho-physical  hygiene  like  Power  through  Repose,  but  also 
to  various  episodes  of  the  New  Thought  movement,  particularly  to 
teachers  who  promise  their  pupils,  through  mental  concentration,  not 
only  peace  but  also  power  and  plenty.  One  can,  it  is  said,  open  at  will  a 
reservoir  from  which  power  will  flow  absolutely  without  limit. 


RELIGION  AS  INDIVIDUAL  CONDUCT          141 

the  varieties  of  religious  group  and  on  the  other  the 
degrees  and  modes  of  individuality.  To  say  that  religion 
here  and  there  represses  individual  action  does  not  tell 
us  enough;  it  is  equally  true  that  religion  strengthens 
individuals  against  society.  /'The  whole  truth  is  that 
religion  has  had  a  part  in  the  entire  evolution  of  both 
society  and  the  individual.  Let  us  see,  then,  if  we  can 
secure  a  general  perspective  of  the  individual  side  of 
this  evolution. 

Until  very  recently  individuals  were  taken  for 
granted,  with  little  thought  of  a  possible  evolution  of 
individuality  itself.  The  political  ideals  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  for  example,  assumed  that  society  is  some  sort 
of  aggregation  of  individuals,  each  of  whom,  in  coming 
into  society,  gives  up  some  of  the  freedom  that  is  natural 
to  him.  Thus  the  individual  was  taken  as  the  prius  of 
society.  Genetic  psychology  has  shown,  however,  that 
individuality  itself  is  achieved  in  the  social  process  and 
not  elsewhere.  In  other  words,  one  and  the  same  move- 
ment produces  society  and  the^individual.  Looking  at 
this  movement  from  the  standpoint  of  the  individual, 
we  discern  the  following  significant  facts: 

We  share  with  certain  subhuman  species  gregarious- 
ness,  parental  regard,  and  sexual  interest,  each  of  which 
involves  pleasure  through  the  presence  of  others  of  our 
species,  and  at  times  conduct  that  is  costly  to  the  par- 
ticular organism.  But  in  merely  instinctive  responses 
we  have  neither  individual  nor  society  in  the  proper 
sense  of  the  term.  Individual  and  society  cannot  arise 
until  a  self  appears. 

But  what  is  it  for  a  self  to  make  its  first  appearance  ? 
The  answer  is  difficult.  If,  thinking  of  the  event  as  an 


142  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

awakening,  we  recall  our  own  experiences  of  coming 
slowly  out  of  sleep,  we  get  a  little  help;  we  notice  a 
vague  sense  of  well-being,  or  of  ill-being,  or  of  wanting 
something,  which  gradually  becomes  a  clear  realization 
of  where  one  is  and  what  one  is  doing.  But  in  this 
awakening  one  uses  a  stock  of  memories  to  which  nothing 
in  the  first  beginnings  of  selfhood  corresponds. 

Concerning  these  beginnings  we  can  say  with  some 
confidence,  however,  that  they  take  place  in  connection 
with  wants  and  satisfactions,  and  that  at  one  and  the 
same  point  arise  the  realization  that  these  wants  and 
satisfactions  are  my  own,  and  an  attitude  of  friendliness 
or  unfriendliness  toward  objects  associated  with  them. 
It  has  been  many  times  pointed  out  that  the  moving, 
sounding  objects  associated  in  a  baby's  experience  with 
feeding-time  are  early  differentiated  from  other  objects. 
Following  Mead  we  may  add  that  the  baby's  own  moving 
hands  and  feet,  and  his  coos  and  gurgles,  are  to  be  in- 
cluded among  these  peculiarly  interesting  objects.  Thus 
the  primal  material  for  the  idea  of  self  and  for  the  idea 
of  socius  is  all  of  the  same  kind.  ''Moreover,  the  "warmth 
and  intimacy"  of  the  sense  of  self  attaches  at  first  to  all 
the  moving  objects  that  are  regularly  associated  with 
the  baby's  satisfactions.  It  is,  therefore,  by  differen- 
tiation from  what  may  be  called  a  protosocial  conscious- 
ness that  the  individual  self  arises.  The  first  self- 
consciousness  is  "we"  more  than  it  is  "I." 

This  "social  reference"  of  the  ego  abides,  however 
distinct  or  self-assertive  the  ego  may  become.    It  is  by  i 
co-operation  and  clash  of  wills  that  I  come  to  assert  my 
will  as  my  own,  and  it  is  by  thinking  of  myself  from 
others'  standpoints  that  I  acquire  an  opinion  of  myself. 


RELIGION  AS  INDIVIDUAL  CONDUCT          143 

In  this  differentiation  into  self-judging  selves  communi- 
cation by  means  of  language  plays  an  enormous  part. 
One  who  should  grow  up  without  such  communication 
would  attain  to  only  an  indefinite  and  wavering  selfhood; 
one  who  should  grow  up  entirely  without  human  com- 
panionship would  never  become  a  self  at  all,  would  never  V ^ 

have  a  rational  as  distinguished  from  an  instinctive  P 
mind. 

Thus  man  is  by  nature  social.    Self-consciousness  is   • 
per  se  social  consciousness,  and  individuality  is  itself  a 
social  fact.     Conversely,  society,  as  distinguished  from 
herds,    arises  in  and  through  the  individuating  process, 
that  is,  through  the  increasing  notice  that  one  takes  of 
another  as  an  experiencing  self.    Neither  term,  then — * 
society  or  individual — is  static;  neither  merely  imposes 
itself  upon  the  other,  but  the  two  are  complementary, 
phases  of  one  and  the  same  movement. 

When  we  say  that  religion  is  a  social  phenomenon, 
then,  we  should  understand  that  it  is  ipso  facto  an  indi- 
viduating process.  When  we  look  backward  from  the 
standpoint  of  some  assured  individual  liberty,  as  freedom 
of  belief  and  of  worship,  any  earlier  social-religious  order 
that  denies  such  liberty  has,  it  is  true,  the  appearance  of 
mere  repression;  yet  the  same  thing,  looked  at  from  the 
standpoint  of  what  precedes  it,  appears  as  the  attainment 
of  greater  individuality. 

I  Custom,  which  may  be  regarded  as  a  precipitate  of  / 
crowd  action,  is  the  first  organized  social  control.  It 
grips  the  individual  with  extraordinary  power,  resisting 
and  organizing  the  discharges  of  even  the  most  imperious 
instincts.  But  it  is  a  psychical  control,  and  it  is  one 
degree  removed  from  instinct.  It  involves  ideas  more 


144  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

or  less  interrelated,  to  which  attention  isjgiven  when 
the  original  sensory  stimulus  is  absent.  The  vague  idea 
of  mana,  the  crude  mental  pictures  of  spirits,  and  the 
emotionally  real  taboo  all  are  a  stimulus  and  a  support 
for  an  inner,  self -realizing  life. 

Similarly,  the  development  of  sacerdotalism  does 
not  so  much  restrict  pre-existing  individuality  as  sharpen 
it.  Fewer  relations  are  regulated,  and  a  secular  sphere 
is  set  off  rather  sharply  from  the  sacred.  The  closer 
concatenation  of  beliefs,  the  more  spectacular  worship, 
the  codified  instruction,  the  more  exalted  and  more 
personal  gods — all  these  have  a  sort  of  "Stop,  look, 
listen!"  effect  upon  the  individual.  Looking  at  the 
sacerdotal  group  broadly,  then,  we  may  say  that  it  is 
not  only  a  method  whereby  certain  common  goods  are 
secured,  but  also  a  system  of  checks  and  pauses  whereby 
men  become  more  conscious  of  themselves  as  individuals.1 

The  individuality  that  is  achieved  in  the  deliberative 
religious  group  takes  various  forms  and  directions.  A 
first  and  prominent  direction  is^aspiration  for  an  inner 
life  as  contrasted  with  external  Tightness  of  all  kinds, 
whether  ceremonial  acts,  or  good  works,  or  dogmatic 
assent.  When  effort  centers  upon^' getting  the  heart 
right,"  the  individual  is  required  to  be  his  own  mentor 
and  judge,  and  he  has  motive  for  fine  and  fundamental 
discriminations.  This  is  true  even  when,  as  commonly 
happens,  a  group  that  emphasizes  heart  religion  con- 

1  Therefore  sacerdotalism  faces  a  practical  dilemma.  If  its  checks 
and  restraints  are  felt  as  such  by  the  individual,  he  is  likely  to  be  stimu- 
lated thereby  to  reflect  upon  the  validity  of  the  commands  that  are 
placed  upon  him.  This  danger  to  sacerdotalism  is  partly  avoided  by 
restricting  the  range  and  the  severity  of  the  restraints,  and  by  causing 
worship  to  approximate  crowd  action. 


RELIGION  AS  INDIVIDUAL  CONDUCT          145 

sciously  attempts,  in  its  early  stages,  nothing  more  than 
inner  conformity  to  a  tradition. 

The  individualizing  effect  of  this  effort  toward  inner 
life  appears  clearly  in  the  sproutings  and  divisions  that 
have  taken  place  within  Protestant  Christianity.  Nearly 
all  of  them,  it  is  true,  have  assumed  that  they  are  con- 
serving or  restoring  some  ancient,  authoritative  standard; 
but  whether  they  are  right  or  wrong  in  this  assumption, 
the  new  grouping  arises  through  free,  individual  inquiry 
and  taking  of  sides.  The  individualizing  effect  can  be 
seen,  further,  in  the  respect  paid  to  the  spiritual  experi- 
ences of  the  plain  layman.  When  thousands  of  prayer 
and  conference  meetings  invite  men,  simply  as  men,  to 
tell  their  experience,  to  offer  prayer,  and  to  discuss  the 
religious  life,  democratic  individualizing  of  men  proceeds 
apace.1 

An  impulse  for  education,  almost  a  passion  for  it, 
has  characterized  some  of  these  groups.  A  remarkable 
number  of  academies  and  colleges  :'n  this  country  has 
sprung  from  the  religious  conviction  of  the  plain  people 
and  been  nourished  by  their  toil.  The  conviction  that 
one  may  discern  divine  operations  within  one's  self;  that 
there  is  a  divinely  appointed  place  and  work  for  every- 
one; that  God  will  guide  one  to  this  work  and  help  one 
to  accomplish  it — this  conviction  in  a  group  brings  to 
light  abilities  otherwise  unguessed.  It  stimulates  varia- 
tion, and  it  is  also  a  selective  agency  in  that  it  encourages 
aspiring  young  people  to  go  to  school  and  college, 
i  A  second,  closely  related  form  of  individual  reaction 

in  the  deliberative  group  is  directly  intellectual.     The 

i 

1  The  Methodist  class-meeting,  it  has  been  remarked,  has  been  the 
training  school  of  a  remarkable  number  of  English  labor  leaders. 


146  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

argumentative  doctrinal  sermon,  which  assumes  that  the 
congregation  is  judge;  the  private  reading  of  the  Scrip- 
tures with  a  desire  to  find  proof  texts;  the  discussion  of 
doctrines  in  prayer  meeting  and  Sunday-school  class— 
these,  though  they  invite  crudity  and  dogmatizing,  place 
the  individual  beyond  merely  external  authority.  Lay-  j 
men  who  judge  the  soundness  of  their  preachers  are  on 
the  road  toward  free  personality. 

The  establishment  and  maintenance  of  religious 
enterprises  through  the  free  decisions  of  laymen  consti- 
tute a  third  phase  of  this  individualizing  type  of  religious 
group.  A  history  of  the  relation  of  the  home  churches 
to  the  modern  missionary  movement  would  show  the 
laymen  first  giving  money  to  a  far-away  cause  under  the 
pressure  of  emotional  appeals  or  of  ecclesiastical  loyalty; 
then  studying  missions,  and  here  and  there  assuming 
responsibility  for  the  support  of  a  particular  missionary; 
and,  finally,  beginning  to  accept  the  whole  enterprise  as 
their  very  own.  ^Many  other  examples  could  be  given 
of  the  broadening  of  the  individual's  horizon,  the  en- 
largement of  his  discretion,  the  increase  of  his  initiative. 
We  are  apparently  nearing  a  time  when  lay  and  clerical 
members  of  deliberative  religious  bodies  will  together 
take  up  the  problem  of  the  basis  and  the  standards  for 
I  social  organization  as  a  whole.  In  short,  the  religious 
freeing  of  the  individual  and  the  righteous  reconstruct 
tion  of  society  are  tending  to  fuse  into  one  process. 
The  conclusion  toward  which  these  facts  point  is  that 
religion,  considered  from  the  standpoint  of  the  indi- 
vidual, is  all  in  all  a  process  of  increasing  individu- 
ation.  It  carries  forward  the  ego-social  differentiation. 
It  confirms  rather  than  depresses  the  sense  of  self, 


RELIGION  AS  INDIVIDUAL  CONDUCT          147 

and    this    it   does   by   being   so   profoundly   a    social 
experience. 

What,  then,  is  the  psychological  significance  of 
asceticism?  If  we  consider  this  question  broadly,  we 
shall  see  that  asceticism,  in  the  strict  sense  of  self- 
inflicted  pains  and  deprivations,  is  continuous  with 
various  self-imposed  restraints  that  are  not  always 
counted  as  ascetic,  such  as  submission  to  ecclesiastical 
authority  and  surrender  to  the  will  of  God.  We  must 
take  these  as  data,  together  with  such  conventional 
ascetic  practices  as  retiring  from  society  into  solitude; 
renouncing  marriage;  denying  the  appetite  for  food; 
avoidance  of  ease  and  of  pleasures  (aesthetic  enjoyment 
included);  reflection  upon  disagreeable  subjects,  like 
death,  hell,  and  one's  own  sins;  inflicting  positive  pain 
upon  one's  self,  as  by  means  of  the  hair  shirt,  by  scourging, 
by  denying  one's  self  sufficient  sleep,  or  by  not  removing 
such  sources  of  distress  as  vermin  and  filth.1  Our 
problem  lies  in  the  paradox  that  men  should  take  satis- 
faction in  thwarting  such  natural  functions  as  these: 
the  food  instinct;  the  sexual  instinct;  the  gregarious 
instinct;  the  parental  instinct;  and  nearly  the  whole 
list  of  preferential  functions,  especially  multiplication  of 
objects,  communication,  and  aesthetic  contemplation. 
Why  do  these  men  want  to  restrict  their  wants  ? 

The  most  obvious  part  of  the  answer  is  that  in  a 
large  proportion  of  cases  one  factor  is  the  idea  of  indi-f 
vidual  salvation — the  supposedly  necessary  price  is  paid 
for  the  greatest  or  most  enduring  satisfaction,  such  as 

1  One  of  the  best  psychological  analyses  of  such  phenomena  is  that 
of  James.  See  The  Varieties  of  Religious  Experience,  Index,  under 
"Asceticism." 


148  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

heaven,  or  escape  from  hell.  To  this  extent  the  real 
problem  of  asceticism  is  this :  How  do  repressive  concep- 
tions of  the  gods  or  of  salvation  secure  social  currency  ? 
Granted  these  conceptions,  voluntary  self- repression 
follows  as  a  matter  of  simple  practical  wisdom  on 
the  part  of  sensitive  natures  that  feel  and  aspire 
greatly.  Our  sure  clue  to  this  problem  lies  in  repressive 
forms  of  human  government.  The  individual  has  had 
to  cringe  and  abase  himself  before  irresponsible  mon- 
archs;  his  property  has  been  taken  by  an  irresponsible 
taxing  power;  he  and  his  sons  have  had  to  risk  their 
lives  in  fighting,  without  opportunity  to  decide  for  them- 
selves the  conditions  of  war  or  of  peace.  Just  so,  to  get  oru 
the  safe  side  of  an  ethically  irresponsible  god,  or  to  accu- 
mulate merit  with  him,  is  a  large  factor  in  asceticism. 
But  it  is  not  the  only  factor.  Asceticism  (under 
which  I  include  the  types  of  submission  already  men- 
tioned) has  too  great  emotional  power,  too  great  attrac- 
tion, to  be  based  upon  a  mere  calculation  of  benefits. 
There  are  direct  instinctive  factors  also,  and  even  an 
element  of  self-emancipation.1  Correlative  to  the  in- 
stinct of  mastery,  there  is  an  instinct  olsubmission  that 
brings  actual  satisfaction  in  surrendering  to  an  obviously 
more  powerful  being.2  It  is  as  if  by  complete  abnegation 
of  self-will  one  became  a  sharer  in  the  greatness  of  the 
master;  he  is  placated,  I  become  a  part  of  his  conquering 
retinue,  and  thus,  by  "  having  no  will  of  my  own/'  I  gain 
significance. 

1 1  speak  here  of  factors  that  are  not  pathological.  In  some  indi- 
viduals, doubtless,  abnormal  organic  sensibility,  or  a  mental  derangement 
nvolving  a  fixed  idea,  plays  a  part. 

3  See  E.  L.  Thorndike,  Original  Nature,  pp.  92  ff. 


RELIGION  AS  INDIVIDUAL  CONDUCT          149 

But  discomfort  can  yield  satisfaction  without  regard 
to  any  other  and  greater  being.    A  common  practice  of 
children  consists  in  experimenting  with  their  own  ability 
to  endure  pain  or  exertion  without  flinching.1     Grown-^ 
ups  boast  of  the  hardships  they  have  endured  in  sickness, 
in    camping   or    exploring,    and    in    exhausting   labor. 
Mythology  abounds  in  admiration  for  those  who  suffer 
without  being  conquered.    How  is  it  that  such  apparent 
defeat  of  desire  is  turned  into  victory  ?    The  explanation 
is  in  two  of  the  preferential  functions:    to  be  conscious,- 
and  to  unify  the  objects  of  consciousness.    Consciousness   /. 
may  be  heightened  by  increasing  the  intensity  of  a 
sensation,  even  though  it  be  from  any  other  point  of 
view  disagreeable;   and  self-realization  may  actually  be    2~ 
promoted  by  incorporating  the  discomfort  into  the  con- 
scious unity  of  one's  will.    To  face  the  coming  blow,  to 
take  it  without  flinching,  and  then  to  contemplate  it, 
without  whimpering — this  victory  over  self  is  a  victory  » 
of  self.     It  takes  that  which  breaks  into  the  self,  and 
uses  it  to  effect  a  firmer  organization  thereof.    A  strained 
situation  sometimes  loses  its  strain  as  soon  as  one  "knows 
the  worst."    Peace  may  come  precisely  through  a  clear, 
unfaltering  recognition  that  one's  feverish  desires  are 
finally  defeated.     The  ascetic,  without  doubt,  finds  a 
part  of  his  satisfaction  in  the  freshness  and  the  intensity/'' 
of  his  experiences  and  in  the   self-unification   that  he 
achieves. 

Another  factor  in  much  asceticism  is  clearly  ethical.    3'. 
It  is  an  effort  to  subdue  individual  impulses  that  oppose 

1 1  have  seen  boys  run  pins  almost  full  length  into  their  own  muscles. 
If  the  muscle  was  kept  motionless  there  was  little  pain,  but  the  act  was 
nevertheless  a  test  of  "grit." 


150  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

or  seem  to  oppose  the  social  standard.  Here  the  central 
conflict  concerns  the  sexual  instinct.  The  substitution 
of  marriage  for  promiscuity,  and  the  founding  and 
maintenance  of  the  monogamic  family,  have  involved 
human  individuals,  particularly  the  males,  in  the  greatest 
of  all  ethical  strains  and  struggles.  The  individual  is 
required  by  social  tradition  and  by  social  penalties  to 
accept  a  standard  against  which  the  most  powerful 
instinct  rebels.  Appropriate  educational  processes  might 
perhaps  guide  this  enormous  impulsive  energy  toward 
the  maintenance  instead  of  the  destruction  of  marriage 
and  the  family.  But  up  to  the  present  time  education 
with  respect  to  this  moral  issue  has  commonly  lacked 
any  such  constructive  method.  ]  The  social  standard  and 
the  individual  impulse  have  simply  collided,  and  the 
individual  has  been  left  to  resolve  the  conflict,  for  the 
most  part,  by  his  own  resources. 

The  typical  ascetic  saint  goes  through  an  inner  con- 
flict with  what  he  regards  as  evil.  He  seeks  complete 
victory;  he  will  not  be  satisfied  with  anything  short  of 
the  death  or  final  quiescence  of  the  troublesome  desires. 
•  That  is,  he  seeks  to  make  himself  as  perfect  as  the  socially 
evolved  standard.  Usually,  however,  he  abstracts  the 
standard  from  the  social  end  or  good  in  the  interest  of  j 
which  it  originated.  He  imagines  that  he  can  be  good 
within  himself,  regardless  of  his  contributions  to  the 
social  good.  He  even  withdraws  from  society  into 
solitary  places,  or  enters  a  narrow,  monastic  group  of 
like-minded  seekers  after  holiness.  Not  able  to  abandon 
wholly  the  social  basis  of  the  good,  however,  he  seeks 
intimacy  with  the  divine  being.  God  now  becomes  1 
partly  abstract  and  unsocial  like  the  ascetic  himself,  but  | 


RELIGION  AS  INDIVIDUAL  CONDUCT          151 

partly  a  substitute  for  human  fellowship.     The  sym- 
pathy, the  friendship,  even  the  conjugal  and  the  parental 
affection  upon  which  the  ascetic  has  turned  his  back, 
now  assert  themselves  toward  God,  or  the  suffering 
Savior,  or  the  child  Jesus,  or  the  Virgin,  and  by  a  process 
of  autosuggestion  the  saint  feels  his  affection  recipro- 
cated.   Thus  asceticism  finally  supports  itself  upon  the  i 
very  wants  and  satisfactions,  rooted  largely  in  bodily  \ 
functions,  that  were  at  first  denied  in  the  interest  of 
something  supposedly  more  sacred.1 

1  It  should  be  said,  too,  that  surrender  and  self-abnegation  differ 
according  to  the  conception  of  God.  The  asceticism  of  India,  among 
the  enlightened,  seeks  a  genuine  and  final  emptying  of  the  self,  because 
the  supreme  being  is  without  predicates.  But  the  Christian  idea  of  a 
positively  benevolent  God  carries  into  Christian  asceticism  the  constant 
possibility  of  interpreting  surrender  and  self-denial  as  the  substitution 
of  social  purpose  for  selfishness.  Hence  the  frequent  union  of  austerities 
with  philanthropy. 


CHAPTER  X 
CONVERSION 

Self-realization  within  a  social  medium  has  now  been 
established  as  one  important  phase  of  the  religious 
experience.  i  When  this  religious  self-realization  is  in- 
tense, and  is  attained  with  some  abruptness,  the  change 
is  called  conversion.  The  convert  looks  upon  himself  as 
having  passed  from  a  lower  to  a  higher  level,  as  having 
attained  to  real  life,  or  as  having  come  to  himself,  or  as 
having  " found"  God.  The  present  chapter  will  attempt 
an  analysis  of  this  experience,  both  as  to  its  structure 
and  as  to  its  functions.1 

Recent  publications,  as  those  of  Starbuck  and  James, 
have  made  particular  cases  of  conversion  so  accessible 
that  we  may  here  take  the  primary  data  as  in  large 
measure  already  known.  To  avoid  ambiguity  of  lan- 

1  "Conversion"  is  used  in  at  least  six  senses:  (i)  a  voluntary 
turning  about  or  change  of  attitude  toward  God;  this  is  the  New  Testa- 
ment sense;  (2)  the  renunciation  of  one  religion  and  the  beginning  of 
adherence  (doctrinal,  ethical,  or  institutional)  to  another;  similarly,  a 
change  from  one  branch  of  a  religion  to  another  (as  Roman,  Greek,  or 
Protestant  Christianity);  (3)  individual  salvation  according  to  the 
evangelical  "plan  of  salvation" — repentance,  faith,  forgiveness,  regen- 
eration, sometimes  with  assurance;  (4)  becoming  consciously  or  volun- 
tarily religious,  as  distinguished  from  mere  conformity  to  the  religious 
ways  of  one's  family  or  other  group;  (5)  Christian  quality  of  life  as 
contrasted  with  an  earlier,  non-Christian  quality — a  "really  converted 
man,"  for  instance;  (6)  any  abrupt  transfer,  particularly  a  very  rapid 
transfer,  from  one  standpoint  and  mode  of  life  to  another,  especially 
from  what  the  subject  recognizes  as  a  lower  to  what  he  recognizes  as  a 
higher  life. 

152 


CONVERSION  153 

guage,  however,  the  term  a  con  version"  should  be  under- 
stood, in  this  discussion,  to  refer  to  experiences  that 
seem  to  the  subject  of  them  to  have  the  following  marks : 
(i)  The  subject's  very  self  seems  to  be  profoundly 
changed.  (2)  This  change  seems  not  to  be  wrought  by 
the  subject  but  upon  him;  the  control  seems  not  to  be 
self-control,  the  outcome  not  a  result  of  mere  growth. 
(3)  The  sphere  of  the  change  is  the  attitudes  that  con- 
stitute one's  character  or  mode  of  life.  But  one's  whole 
world  may  acquire  new  meaning;  or  there  may  be  a 
sense  of  divine  presence;  or  there  may  seem  to  come 
new  insight  into  a  doctrine  or  into  a  whole  system  of 
doctrine.  (4)  The  change  includes  a  sense  of  attaining 
to  a  higher  life,  or  to  emancipation  or  enlargement  of 
the  self.  Not  seldom  there  is  victory  over  habits-  that 
brought  self-condemnation.  Now  and  then  there  is 
recovery  from  moral  degradation  and  helplessness.  The 
interest  of  these  cases  for  us  springs  from  the  impression 
on  the  part  of  multitudes  of  converts  that  here  the 
Divine  Being  can  be  discerned  laying  his  hand,  as  it 
were,  upon  men. 

The  general  setting  of  these  experiences  includes 
three  significant  facts: 

i.  In  point  of  abruptness  these  religious  changes 
are  paralleled  by  experiences  in  every  other  sphere  of 
human  interest.1  Intellectual  problems  are  solved  in  a 
flash,  as  in  the  case  of  Sir  William  Rowan  Hamilton's 
discovery  of  quaternions;  whole  subjects  of  study  that 
have  been  dark  and  meaningless  have  become  suddenly 
luminous;  in  some  fortunate  glance  of  the  eye  nature 
becomes  for  the  first  time  appealing  and  intimate;  or 

1  Starbuck  has  a  collection  of  instances  in  chap.  xi. 


154  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

one  discovers  that  one  is  already  in  love  with  a  person 
of  the  opposite  sex. 

x.  2.  Conversion  is  continuous  with  religious  growth  in 
\  both  process  and  content.  The  "growth  cases"  in  our 
current  evangelical  Protestantism,  as  Starbuck  showed 
at  length,  arrive  at  the  same  general  type  of  religious 
attitude  as  the  "conversion  cases/'  and  the  rapidity  of 
the  change  has  all  degrees. 

3.  The  distribution  of  the  phenomenon  is  significant. 
Conversion  is  by  no  means  coextensive  with  religion. 
Those  who  say  that  a  sense  of  sin  is  a  universal  mark  of 
the  religious  experience  are  seriously  wide  of  the  facts. 
It  is  true  that  religion  almost  everywhere  allays  some 
sort  of  anxiety,  but  not  until  the  social  standard  takes 
the  form  of  an  inner  ethical  demand — a  demand  to  be 
right  and  not  merely  to  obtain  goods — do  we  find  in  any 
large  degree  the  victorious  sense  of  self-realization  with 
which  we  are  now  dealing.  There  seem  to  be  traces  of 
conversion  (as  in  Isaiah)  when  the  failure  of  Israel's 
sacerdotal  conception  of  Jahwe  forced  thoughtful  minds 
to  reflection  and  self-examination.  The  earliest  followers, 
of  the  Buddha,  who  proclaimed  that  the  root  of  evil  is  in 
ourselves  and  not  in  something  imposed  upon  us,  are 
represented  as  coming  suddenly  into  the  light  with  all 
the  emotional  marks  of  the  evangelical  Christian  con- 
version. There  are  signs  that  the  mystery-cults  among 
the  Greeks  and  the  Romans  awakened  personal  religious 
experiences  of  the  conversion  type.1  The  history  of 
Christianity,  with  its  emphasis  upon  the  value  of  the 

1  See  F.  Cumont,  The  Oriental  Religions  in  Roman  Paganism 
(Chicago,  1911),  pp.  26  ff.;  W.  A.  Heidel,  "Die  Bekehrung  im  klassischen 
Altertum,  mit  besonderer  Berucksichtigung  des  Lucretius,"  Zeitschrift 
fur  Religions  psychologic,  III  (1910),  377-402. 


CONVERSION  155 

individual,  has  been  rich  in  conversions  of  eminent  men 
like  Paul,  Augustine,  St.  Francis,  and  Luther.  Mystical 
sects  like  the  Friends  of  God1  cultivated  the  experience 
as  a  privilege  of  the  common  man.  The  great  modern 
revivals,  from  those  of  Wesley  and  Whitefield  down, 
have  presented  abundant  cases.  In  the  evangelical 
movement,  particularly  in  Methodist  and  Baptist  circles, 
the  prevailing  sentiment  has  been  at  times  that  the 
conversion  experience  should  be  universal  among  Chris- 
tian believers.  It  is  to  this  end  that  various  systems  of 
revival  technic  have  been  devised. 

But  all  this  represents  only  a  slight  segment  of  the 
history  of  religion.  Even  in  Christianity  conversion 
experiences  are  the  exception,  not  the  rule.  Communions 
that  have  aimed  at  a  converted  membership  only  have 
not  been  able  to  maintain  any  such  standard  of  admis- 
sion for  a  long  period.  For  the  conversion  of  parents 
tends,  by  bringing  religion  into  the  home,  to  produce  in 
their  children  a  natural  religious  growth  through  nurture, 
and  therefore  to  prevent  conversion.  Further,  the  con- 
trast effect  necessary  for  the  abrupt  experience  cannot 
be  made  continuous;  it  implies  occasionalism,  whereas 
organization  in  religion,  as  in  anything  else,  aims  at 
continuity.  Each  revival  " burns  over  the  ground,"2  so 
that  an  interval  must  elapse  before  another  can  arise 
in  power.3  The  one  statistical  study  thus  far  made  of 

xSee  R.  M.  Jones.  Studies  in  Mystical  Religion  (London,  1909), 
chap.  xiii. 

3  A  phrase  actually  in  use  in  revival  circles. 

3  As  a  consequence  of  all  this,  in  religious  bodies  that  attempt  to 
make  conversion  a  standard  experience  for  candidates  for  membership, 
the  following  conditions  are  common:  (i)  Confused  use  of  the  term 
*  'conversion."  The  term  has  to  be  let  down  to  fit  the  experiences  that  are 


156  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

the  relation  of  revivals  to  the  growth  of  church  member- 
ship through  a  considerable  period  tends  to  show  that 
the  increased  rate  of  accessions  at  the  time  of  revival  is 
'  offset  by  a  decreased  rate  afterward,  and  that  possibly 
the  effect  of  the  revivals  is  not  to  increase  the  total 
accessions,  but  rather  to  hasten  certain  additions,  so 
that  the  curve  of  accessions  takes  the  form  of  wave 
motion,  with  high  crest  and  deep  depression  alternating.1 
Further  study  is  needed  of  communities  in  which  an 
effort  has  been  made  to  incorporate  evangelistic  methods 
into  an  ordered  program,  as  " decision  day"  in  the 
Sunday  school,  and  a  regular  annual  revival.  Here  the 
tendency  appears  to  be  to  produce  occasional  conversion 
experiences  within  a  process  that  is,  as  a  whole,  a  crude 
kind  of  religious  education. 

Turning,  now,  to  the  structural  aspects  of  the  abrupt 
experience  called  "conversion,"  we  shall  find:  (i)  traces 
of  mental  reproduction  of  the  individual's  own  earlier 
experiences;  (2)  fresh  sensory  elements;  (3)  certain 
instinctive  impulses;  and  (4)  a  law  under  which  these 
elements  are  characteristically  combined. 

i.  The  ideational  factors  are  predominantly  repro- 
ductions from  antecedent  experiences  of  the  convert 

actually  produced.  What  sort  of  fact,  for  example,  is  back  of  Sunday- 
school  statistics,  or  evangelistic  campaign  statistics,  that  report  a  cer- 
tain number  of  conversions?  (2)  Confusion,  morbidness,  and  negative 
reactions  on  the  part  of  would-be  Christians  who  do  not  have  the  stand- 
ard experiences.  (3)  Professional  revivalism  grows  shallow.  Unable  to 
produce  a  satisfactory  number  of  conversions  of  the  standard  type,  it 
substitutes  therefor  almost  any  act  that  has  a  religious  coloring.  A 
"convert"  is  one  who  signs  a  card,  or  holds  up  a  hand,  or  shakes  hands 
with  the  evangelist,  for  example. 

1  Samuel  W.  Dike,  "A  Study  of  New  England  Revivals,"  American 
Journal  of  Sociology,  XV  (1909),  361-78. 


CONVERSION  157 

himself.  His  notion  of  the  "  higher  "  life  has  been  formed 
(under  the  influence  of  standards  present  in  his  environ- 
ment. He  is  converted  to  something,  the  idea  of  which 
he  has  already  met,  as  at  home,  or  in  Sunday  school,  or 
in  preaching,  or  in  his  reading  and  reflection.  If  the 
conversion  experience  includes  consciousness  of  the 
presence  of  the  Christian  God,  it  is  because  Christian 
rather  than,  say,  Brahmin  ideas  of  God  have  already 
been  acquired.1  Only  so  does  Christian  " assurance''  or 
"the  witness  of  the  Spirit"  occur  in  any  articulate  sense. 
Only  so  does  articulate  insight  suddenly  arise  in  any 
sphere.  A  vast  mathematical  experience  lay  behind  the 
discovery  of  the  quaternions.  Just  so,  preceding  the 
sudden  rise  of  interest  or  meaning  in  a  field  of  learning, 
there  is  some  acquaintance  with  the  field. 

2.  On  the  other  hand,  fresh  sensory  elements  often 
play  a  part  in  conversion.  The  tone  of  a  preacher's  voice ; 
the  rhythm,  melody,  and  volume  of  revival  songs;  repe- 
tition of  a  given  impression;  the  sight  of  others  per- 
forming a  religious  act;  organic  sensations,  such  as 
thrills,  tingles,  shudders;  very  possibly  now  and  then 
sexual  sensations  not  recognized  as  such;  and  the  entire 
sensory  mass  that  constitutes  physical  tone,  particularly 
fatigue  and  similar  states  in  which  excitability  as  dis- 
tinguished from  discriminative  sensibility  exists — all 
these  have  to  be  reckoned  with.  The  "twice-born" 
type,  which  is  characterized  by  acute  and  persistent 
feeling  of  powerlessness  to  unify  one's  life,  with  conse- 
quent yielding  up  of  self  to  some  supposedly  external 

1  Revivalism  can  do  no  more  than  reinforce  antecedent  educative 
processes.  To  the  extent,  therefore,  that  revivalistic  methods  interrupt 
religious  education,  or  separate  themselves  therefrom,  they  are  para- 
sitic— they  rob  the  source  of  their  own  life. 


158  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

"redemptive"  person  or  principle  (all  of  which  is  dis- 
tinguished from  growth  from  within),  is  probably  deter- 
mined by  some  persistent,  though  not  yet  denned, 
physiological  depression. 

Here  is  a  vast  field  in  which  we  are  sure  that  certain 
elements  are  present,  though  they  have  not  as  yet  been 
measured.  'It  is  clear,  for  example,  that  a  bold,  com- 
manding tone  and  manner  on  the  part  of  some  preachers 
produce  an  effect  over  and  above  what  they  say.  Pa- 
thetic, pleading  tones,  on  the  other  hand,  produce  a  spe- 
cific response  of  their  own  in  the  form  of  tender  emotion. 
Revival  music  is  obviously  different  in  ideas,  in  melodic 
character,  and  in  rhythm  from  the  music  that  is  most 
enjoyed  in  other  situations.  The  unification  of  an 
audience  by  means  of  sharply  accented  rhythms  and 
by  the  repetition  of  refrains;  the  emotionally  melting 
effect  of  what  may  be  called  " personal  reference  songs" 
(I-me-my  songs),  and  the  reinforcement  thereof  by 
sentimental  melodies — all  this  is  clear,  though  we  do 
not  yet  know  just  what  part  a  given  key,  cadence,  or 
kind  of  rhythm  has  in  producing  a  given  emotion.  The 
significance  of  rhythm,  repetition,  and  the  languorous 
love  music  that  is  sometimes  used  will  be  discussed  in 
later  paragraphs. 

An  important  side  light  upon  certain  sensory  factors 
in  conversion  comes  from  an  experience  occasionally 
reported  as  having  occurred  in  connection  with  anesthe- 
sia.1 The  type  is  well  represented  by  a  gentleman  who, 
in  a  conversation  with  me,  described  the  event  substan- 
tially as  follows:  Upon  awakening  from  ether  anesthesia 

1  See,  for  instance,  James,  The  Varieties  of  Religious  Experience, 
pp.  387-93- 


CONVERSION  159 

in  connection  with  a  surgical  operation  he  recalled  that 
he  had  witnessed,  as  it  were,  the  solution  of  the  pro- 
foundest  problems  of  life.  It  was  as  if  all  the  contra- 
dictions of  existence  had  risen  before  him  and  then  been 
brought  into  wondrous  unity — an  experienced  unity. 
Before  the  operation  he  had  been  losing  his  religious 
hold  by  reason  of  difficulties  growing  out  of  his  college 
and  university  studies,  but  his  anesthetic  experience  had 
given  him  a  religious  footing  that  it  seemed  to  him 
nothing  could  ever  shake.  I  inquired  what  doubt  had 
been  laid,  and  what  specific  answer  had  come  to  any 
specific  question.  He  replied  that  there  was  no  definable 
intellectual  content  in  the  whole  experience;  he  could 
not  even  now  give  a  philosophical  resolution  of  his  old 
philosophical  doubts;  yet  he  had  become  immovably 
sure  that  there  is  a  good  meaning  in  existence  as  a  whole, 
and  his  daily  life  had  gained  in  confidence  and  moral 
firmness. 

Here  a  reversal  of  attitude  toward  life  as  a  whole 
was  initiated  by  a  physiological  process,  the  psychical 
correlate  of  which  must  be  regarded  as  primarily  sensory, 
namely,  kinesthetic  sensations  of  muscular  rigidity 
followed  by  those  of  muscular  relaxation.  L 

In  general,  an  anesthetic  acts  first  as  a  stimulant  and  later  as  a 
depressant.  The  final  and  complete  relaxation  of  the  muscular 
system  is  frequently  preceded  by  tonic  muscular  rigidity.  The 
psychical  effects  of  such  a  change  will  hardly  be  realized  by  anyone 
who  has  not  become  familiar,  in  his  own  person,  with  the  relation 
between  muscular  tension  and  anxiety,  restlessness,  and  a  divided 
self  on  the  one  hand,  and  that  between  muscular  relaxation  and 
calm,  poise,  and  self -reconciliation  on  the  other.  When  every- 
thing goes  wrong  and  you  cannot  adjust  yourself  to  yourself  or 
your  work;  when  you  find  yourself  doing  under  high  tension  what 


160  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

ought  to  be  easy;  when  you  cannot  let  go  your  cares  or  secure 
restful  sleep,  then  hunt  for  tense  muscles  and  relax  them.  In 
forehead,  jaws,  fingers,  legs — somewhere  you  will  find  a  physical 
basis  or  condition  of  your  unrest.  Relieve  the  tension  and  your- 
self and  your  world  will  be  less  divided  and  contradictory;  you 
will  experience  in  some  degree  the  very  unification  that  the  mystic 
looks  upon  as  a  revelation.  Relaxation  has  always  been  one 
feature  of  mystical  practices,  in  fact.  It  is  not  strange,  then,  that 
here  and  there  a  medical  patient  gives  a  mystical  interpretation 
to  the  change  from  tension  to  relaxation  under  an  anesthetic.1 

This  total  mass  of  relief  was  his  relief;  it  was  a  coming 
to  himself  after  dispersal  and  distraction.  The  emotional 
massiveness  of  the  relief,  under  the  recognized  principle  of 
perseveration,2  was  carried  over  into  the  waking  state. 
Put  into  articulate  terms  it  was:  "All  is  well;  I  have 
nothing  to  fear;  I  am  part  of  a  system  that  is  good." 
\  This  is  already  an  attitude,  a  sort  of  self-assertion. 
Note,  now,  that  it  fulfils  two  of  the  conditions  that  are 
favorable  to  habit-formation,  namely,  strong  initiative 
and  strong  satisfaction.  Thus  it  is  that  the  old  doubts 
are  overcome.  *  The  habit  of  self -repression  in  the 
presence  of  certain  notions  is  replaced  by  a  habit  of 
self-assertion.  Henceforth,  instead  of  postponing  one's 
selfhood  or  making  it  dependent  upon  a  single  branch 
of  its  own  activity  (the  logical),  the  self  boldly  asserts 
itself  as  an  integer,  assuming  in  advance  the  ultimate 
success  of  its  particular  enterprises. 

The  order  of  events  here  is  sensation  (of  tension  and 
release),  emotion  (of  peace  or  of  joy),  reorganization  of 

1 G.  A.  Coe  uThe  Sources  of  the  Mystical  Revelation,"  Hibbert 
Journal,  January,  1908,  pp.  366  ff. 

2  Ladd  and  Wood  worth,  Elements  of  Physiological  Psychology  (New 
York,  1911),  pp.  586  f. 


CONVERSION  161 

the  self  (including  ideas  of  its  relations  to  its  world). 
This  ought  not  to  seem  strange  to  us,  for  it  is  simply  the 
opposite  of  well-recognized  experiences  in  which  physical 
conditions  induce  worry,  self -distrust,  and  dejection. 
Thus  it  is  that  sensory  factors  may  be  one,  or  even  a 
chief,  determining  condition  of  religious  conversion. 

3.  Instinct  plays  a  part  in  conversions.  w  Many 
revivals  are  instances  of  gregariousness,  that  is,  of  a 
coming  together  because  the  mere  presence  of  others 
gives  satisfaction.  Then,  disapproval  from  others  pro- 
duces distress,  and  approval  produces  satisfaction, 
altogether  apart  from  any  judgment  that  one  might 
form  on  other  grounds  as  to  one's  own  conduct  or 
character,  j  Thus  .the  group  standard  passes  over  into 
individual  conviction  and  determination  partly  by  an 
instinctive  route.  Further,  instinctive  submission  in  the 
presence  of  superiority  is  often  here — submission  to  the 
assertive  personality  of  an  evangelist,  or  to  the  church 
as  greater  than  the  individual,  or  to  the  overpowering 
greatness  and  goodness  of  God.  Some  persons  take 
instinctive  pleasure  in  sinking  their  own  will  in  one  that 
they  regard  as  superior.  A  few  years  ago  a  revival  song- 
book  set  multitudes  of  persons  singing: 

O  to  be  nothing,  nothing! 

Only  to  lie  at  Mis  feet, 
A  broken  and  emptied  vessel, 

For  the  Master's  use  made  meet. 

That  the  nonsense  of  the  second  couplet  did  not  promptly 
dawn  upon  the  people  is  probably  due  in  part  to  the 
instinctive  satisfaction  of  feeling  utterly  submissive. 
Possibly  the  rather  sharp  contrast  between  the  "  once- 
born"  type  and  the  " twice-born"  arises  in  part  from 


162  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

individual  differences  with  respect  to  "mastery  and 
submission,"  both  of  which  are  instinctive.  The  " once- 
born"  may  be  those  who  instinctively  tend  more  toward 
mastery,  the  " twice-born"  those  who  tend  toward  sub- 
mission. This  hypothesis  does  not  exclude  but  may  be 
combined  with  the  hint  already  given  that  some  sort 
of  physiological  depression  probably  underlies  any 
persistent  sense  of  helplessness. 

What  the  convert  regards  as  coming  to  himself  is  at 
the  same  time  a  conscious  adjustment  to  an  objective 
order  of  a  social  or  at  least  quasi-social  sort.  He  finds 
his  place  in  a  system  of  duties;  or  he  becomes  more 
sensitive  toward  his  fellows  (early  Buddhist  literature 
offers  an  example);  or  he  lays  hold  of  a  god  who  sym- 
pathizes with  men;  or,  at  least,  he  finds  some  law  that 
seems  to  secure  the  possibility  of  a  satisfactory  destiny 
for  both  himself  and  his  fellows.  Thus  his  conversion 
consists  in  taking  a  human  point  of  view  for  himself  and 
his  world;  his  self-realization  is  a  realization  of  society. 
Starbuck  holds  that  in  the  group  studied  by  him  the 
basal  characteristic  is  a  change  from  individualistic  self- 
centeredness  to  a  social  center  for  the  self. 

The  impulsiveness  and  convincingness  of  this  change 
point  back  to  parts  of  our  instinctive  social  endowment. 
Underneath  the  attitudes  toward  one  another  that  we 
designate  as  respect  for  human  life,  regard  for  the  in- 
terests of  others,  and  affectionate  regard  are  certain 
ultimate  tendencies,  not  only  to  take  notice  of  other 
individuals,  but  also  to  take  their  pleasures  and  pains  as 
our  own.  In  the  evolutionary  order  this  kind  of  interest 
in  others  makes  its  first  clear  appearance  in  the  relation 
of  mother  to  child.  But  it  is  instinctive  in  both 


CONVERSION  163 

sexes.1  When  we  behold  a  helpless  or  suffering  individual, 
especially  one  smaller  or  weaker  than  ourselves,  we  find 
ourselves  spontaneously  taking  his  point  of  view  and 
desiring  with  him.  This  taking- the-o  ther 's-point-of- view-  ^ 
as-worth-while-for-us  spreads  outward  from  the  parental  < 
relation  until  it  becomes  the  broadly  human  principle  of 
benevolence,  respect  for  persons,  and,  finally,  ideal  jus- 
tice. Now,  the  conversion  experience  includes,  all  in  all, 
a  movement  in  this  direction.  To  come  into  communion 
with  a  god  of  love,  for  example,  is  to  take  for  one's  self  the 
god's  broadly  human  point  of  view.  It  is  to  give  play  to 
our  own  parental  instinct. 

The  fact,  now  well  known,  that  adolescence  is  the 
period  of  life  in  which  evangelistic  influences  have  their 
maximum  effectiveness,  points  to  a  connection  between 
adolescent  conversions  and  the  sexual  instinct.  The 
connection  is  both  indirect  and  direct.  The  physiological 
change  has  an  indirect  effect  because  the  general  state 
of  restlessness  or  excitement  induced  by  the  intrusion  of 
a  new  (or  largely  new)  set  of  organic  sensations  makes 
it  easy  for  youth  to  acquire  new  interests  of  almost  any 
kind.  The  sexual  instinct  plays  a  direct  part  also  in 
that  it  increases  attention  to  persons  (both  one's  self  and 
others),  and  in  that  it  extends  and  deepens  tender 
emotion.2  Thus  the  instinct  of  sex  joins  with  that  of 

1  On  the  nature  and  classification  of  instincts  see  E.  L.  Thorndike, 
The  Original  Nature  oj  Man  (New  York,  1913),  especially  chap.  vii.    A 
brief  summary  of  Thorndike's  main  conclusions  will  be  found  in  his 
Education  (New  York,  1912),  chap.  v.     See  also  W.  McDougall,  An 
Introduction  to  Social  Psychology  (Boston,  1909),  especially  pp.  60-81. 

2  It  is  true  that  sex  attraction  as  such  does  not  seem  to  include 
regard  for  another's  interests;    nothing  can  be  more  ruthless  than  the 
sex  instinct,  in  some  of  its  manifestations,  at  least.    Yet  it  does  not 


164  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

parenthood  in  establishing  in  conversion  a  more  social 
attitude.  This  is  the  direct  influence  that  adolescence 
has  upon  abrupt  conversions.1 

How  does  the  delayed  instinct  of  sex  enter  thus  into 
the  texture  of  adolescent  character?  (a)  Obscure,  not 
clearly  localized  sensations  of  a  new  order  occur,  (b)  This 
interferes  with  the  habitual  sense  of  self,  which  depends 
in  large  measure  upon  a  mass  of  common  or  unlocalized 
sensations,  (c)  The  strangeness  of  one's  self,  the  experi- 
ence of  being  jogged  out  of  habitual  adjustments,  has  as 
its  motor  correlate  restlessness  and  yearning,  (d)  Its  idea- 

generally  exist  "in  and  by  itself"  in  the  human  species.  The  fixation 
of  attention  upon  another,  the  vivid  realization  of  his  presence  as  this 
particular  individual,  which  is  characteristic  of  sex  attraction,  has  an 
important  consequence.  We  individualize  one  another  by  Einfuhlung — 
that  is,  by  imaginative  putting  of  one's  self  in  another's  place — so  that  we 
reciprocally  feel  one  another's  satisfactions  and  discomforts.  Now,  sex 
attraction,  as  well  as  parental  instinct,  strongly  individualizes  its  object. 
Therefore  we  may  assume  that  sex  makes  a  direct  contribution  to  the 
appreciation  of  benevolence  and  justice.  Something  very  like  the 
parental  attitude  also  appears  between  lovers — the  attitude  of  protection, 
intense  response  to  every  sign  of  pain,  cuddling. 

1  Typical  of  the  adolescent  impulse  to  interpret  existence  as  a  whole 
in  human  terms  is  Mary  Antin's  account  of  her  first  acquaintance  with 
the  ocean  at  the  age  of  about  twelve:  " So  deeply  did  I  feel  the  presence 
of  these  things  that  the  feeling  became  one  of  awe,  both  painful  and 

sweet,  and  stirring  and  warming,  and  deep  and  calm  and  grand I 

was  alone  sometimes.  I  was  aware  of  no  human  presence;  I  was  con- 
scious of  only  the  sea  and  sky  and  something  I  did  not  understand. 
And  as  I  listened  to  its  solemn  voice,  I  felt  as  if  I  had  found  a  friend,  and 
knew  that  I  loved  the  ocean.  It  seemed  as  if  it  were  within  as  well  as 
without,  a  part  of  myself;  and  I  wondered  how  I  had  lived  without  it, 
and  if  I  could  ever  part  with  it." — The  Promised  Land  (Boston,  1912), 
p.  179.  Tagore  has  recognized  more  clearly,  perhaps,  than  any  other 
poet  of  religion  the  inner  connection  between  human  affection  and  the 
attractiveness  of  God.  The  Crescent  Moon  (New  York,  1913),  which  is 
concerned  with  parental  love;  The  Gardener  (New  York,  1913),  which 
has  conjugal  love  as  its  theme,  a^nd  Gitanjali  (London,  1913),  which  is 
an  offering  of  songs  to  God — these  three  are  variations  upon  a  single 
theme. 


CONVERSION  165 

tional  correlate  is  mystery.  The  strangeness  of  the  self 
spreads  out  over  one's  world.  The  world  cannot  mean 
the  same  simply  because  that  to  which  it  has  meaning  is 
different,  (e)  New  pleasure  is  experienced  in  the  mere 
presence  of  persons  of  the  opposite  sex  even  though 
reference  to  sexual  union  is  completely  excluded.  The 
sex  interest,  that  is,  expands  into  a  social  interest  that 
sustains  itself  merely  as  such.  (/)  New  pleasure  is  expe- 
rienced also  in  the  society  of  persons  of  one's  own  sex.  > 
Witness  the  gangs,  sets,  teams,  clubs,  that  characterize 
the  period.  The  reason  is  that  the  changing  sense  of 
self  calls  for  material  for  self-interpretation.  Further,  jfv 
the  strangeness  of  the  self  to  itself  makes  social  support 
almost  indispensable.  Even  a  timid  person  can  act 
confidently  as  one  of  a  group,  (g)  This  new  social  self- 
realization  can  be  more  or  less  deep,  more  or  less  expan- 
sive, and  it  is  almost  certain  to  meet  resistance  from  the 
habitual  narrower  self.  /Two  levels  of  life  can  thus 
appear  within  the  same  life,  two  opposing  directions  of 
desire,  both  grounded  in  instinct.  The  mystery  of  both 
one's  self  and  of  one's  world  may,  however,  yield  before 
the  experienced  reality  of  society.  The  adolescent 
doubter  rarely  doubts  the  validity  of  ethical  principles 
that  formulate  the  rudiments  of  respect  for  persons.1 

1  We  must  warn  ourselves  against  ambiguity  in  discussions  of  "the" 
adolescent.  Discrimination  is  necessary  between  emotional  strains 
induced  by  our  high-pressure  modern  life,  by  school  conditions,  by  bad 
habits,  or  by  a  particular  religious  environment,  and  the  natural  unfold- 
ing of  adolescent  interests  in  situations  that  provide  wealth  of  experiences 
without  overstimulation.  On  the  other  hand,  it  must  not  be  assumed 
that  we  can  find  adolescent  nature  in  situations  that  provide  no  wealth 
of  experience.  That  the  social  impulses  of  adolescence  are  largely 
thwarted  and  misdirected  in  large  sections  of  our  population  cannot 
be  doubted. 


166  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

The  reasons  for  the  attraction  of  adolescents  to 
.religion  now  become  clear.--  (a)  Religion  commonly 
V  presents  itself  as  a  fellowship — a  congregation,  a  church, 
a  historic  cause  or  party.  *  (b)  Religion  commonly  pre- 
sents itself  as  fellowship  with  a  superior  being  who  has, 
or  can  be  induced  to  take,  the  human  point  of  view. 
In  some  of  the  higher  religions  direct  communion  with 
such  a  god  is  held  out  as  the  privilege  of  the  individual. 
(c)  In  general,  religion  represents  a  contrast  between 
the  ordinary  or  habitual  and  something  deeper  and 
broader — a  contrast  closely  like  that  between  the  adoles- 
.  cent's  narrower,  habitual  self  and  the  broader  self  that 
strives  with  it. 

4.  So  much  for  the  elements  involved  in  conversion. 
Under  what  characteristic  laws,  if  any,  do  they  here 
combine?  Premising  that  "abrupt"  is  not  a  strictly 
determinate  conception,  we  may  summarize  the  process 
where  it  is  most  abrupt  as  follows: 

First,  the  elements  already  noted  (sensations,  ideas, 
motor  tendencies,  instinctive  desires)  are  combined  into 
a  new  and  satisfying  whole  by  the  process  of  suggestion.1 
-^  Conversion  is  promoted  by  anything  that  narrows  atten- 
tion to  two  contrasting  levels  of  life,  as  the  reiterations, 
pleadings,  and  commands  of  a  preacher;  congregational 
singing;  the  mere  presence  of  an  expectant  congrega- 
tion; community  sentiment;  private  conversation 
(personal  evangelism) ;  reflection  and  reading.  Rhythm 
plays  an  interesting  role.  From  early  times  drumming, 
hand-clapping,  swaying  of  bodies,  chanting,  and  dancing 
have  been  used  as  means  of  inducing  the  type  of  hypnosis 
*  popularly  called  trance.  Entirely  independent  of  the 

1 A  short  exposition  of  suggestion  will  be  found  on  pp.  1 20  f . 


CONVERSION  167 

fatigue  effect  produced  when  these  exercises  are  greatly 
prolonged  is  the  tendency  of  rhythm,  as  of  other  repeti- 
tions, to  bring  wandering  attention  back  to  one  and  the 
same  point.  Here  we  get  light  upon  the  usual  tactics 
of  the  song-leader  in  revival  meetings  and  also  upon 
the  rhythmical  character  of  revival  melodies.1 

But,  secondly,  only  a  part  of  the  work  of  reorganiza- 
tion is  done  thus  suddenly.  Another  part,  which  is  more 
gradual,  precedes  the  climax.  Suggestion,  the  mere 
narrowing  of  attention  for  a  few  minutes,  does  not 
profoundly  reverse  one's  likes  and  dislikes  unless  a 
preparatory  process  has  taken  place.  The  convert  him- 
self may  not  be  able  to  give  any  account  of  such  a  process; 
his  experience  may  seem  to  him  like  an  explosion.  Yet 
we  know  tliat  new  points  of  view  do  mature,  new  atti- 
tudes do  take  root,  before  their  presence  is  clearly 
recognized.  One  may  see  an  object,  and  even  react  to 
it,  or  reverse  an  opinion,  or  change  one's  attitude  toward 
a  person  without  being  able  to  recall  the  steps  involved — 
one  wakes  up  to  find  that  the  deed  is  already  done.  This 
is  the  sort  of  fact  that  necessitates  some  such  term  as 
the  subconscious.  Reserving  to  a  later  chapter  a  general 
exposition  of  the  subconscious  in  religion,  we  note 
merely  that  a  maturing  of  this  type  underlies  the 
conversion  phenomenon.  It  is  what  makes  possible 

1  Conversely,  we  get  light  upon  the  rhythmical  utterance  or  sing- 
song that  characterizes  many  persons  when  they  speak  under  what 
they  regard  as  inspiration.  A  Quaker  preacher  who  in  his  preaching 
commonly  felt  himself  controlled  by  the  Spirit  confided  to  me  that  his 
high  sing-song  seemed  *to  come  upon  him;  it  even  embarrassed  and 
humiliated  him.  Here  the  lack  of  variety  is  strictly  parallel  with  the 
loss  of  facial  expression  and  the  reduction  of  vocal  emphasis  when  one 
is  approaching  hypnosis. 


1 68  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

depth  of  response  to  the  suggestion  that  precipitates 
the  crisis.1 

To  immediate  suggestion  plus  the  subconscious  we 
must  add,  finally,  a  third  law,  that  of  habi t- forma tion.v 
At  the  Water  Street  Mission  in  New  York,  for  example, 
it  is  not  assumed  that  a  down-and-out  is  really  on  his 
feet  as  soon  as  a  conversion  climax  has  occurred.  No; 
his  surroundings  are  looked  after;  he  is  helped  to  get 
work;  friends  accompany  him  to  and  from  work  so  that 
he  may  be  sure  not  to  yield  to  the  old  saloon  habit;  he 
is  brought  to  the  mission  every  night  and  made  happy 
there;  he  is  set  promptly  at  the  task  of  helping  other 
down-and-outs.  In  short,  he  is  given  the  experience  of  a 
new  external  as  well  as  internal  world,  and  he  is  drilled 
in  definite  social  acts  with  pleasurable  associations  until 
good  conduct  becomes  habitual.  Thus  he  continues  to 
build  his  new  self  and  his  new  world  after  the  climax, 
j  just  as  it  was  partly  built  before.  Wherever  converts 
" stick"  it  will  be  found  that  habit-formation,  particu- 
larly through  a  new  social  fellowship,  follows  the  con- 
version crisis.  Yet  popular  thought  commonly  attributes 
the  results  of  this  habit-formation  to  the  crisis  itself. 

There  remain  for  analysis  the  functions  of  the  con- 
version experience.  The  convert  experiences  the  change 
as  the  attainment  of  "new,"  "true,"  or  "real"  life. 
What  does  this  mean  ?  Before  answering,  let  us  make 
sure  what  the  question  is.  It  is  not,  Do  we  ourselves 
regard  the  new  life  as  higher  than  the  old  ?  Functional 
psychology  neither  approves  nor  disapproves  the  satis- 
factions that  it  investigates.  It  seeks  rather  to  discover 

1 S.  H".  Hadley  is  said  to  have  remarked  that  the  down-and-outs 
converted  at  the  Water  Street  Mission  in  New  York  are  men  who  were 
formerly  under  the  influence  of  religion  hi  their  childhood  homes. 


CONVERSION  169 

what  it  is  in  any  situation  that  makes  it  satisfying  to  the 
man  who  finds  it  so.  To  do  this  we  must  attend  to  the 
points  of  view  that  men  occupy  in  their  likes  and  dislikes. 
The  existence  of  such  points  of  view,  which  is  obvious 
enough,  implies  (a)  satisfactions,  (b)  discrimination  be- 
tween satisfactions,  (c)  preference  for  certain  satisfac- 
tions as  against  others,  and  (d)  at  least  a  potential  scale 
of  preferences.  Our  present  concern  is  with  these  scales  •. 
of  preferences  or — since  our  definition  of  a  value  is  "a 
discriminated  satisfaction  taken  as  a  mark  of  an  object" 
—with  scales  of  values.  Let  it  be  repeated  that  our 
question  is  not,  Which  scale  is  the  best?  but,  What 
scales  are  actually  used  ?  s 

To  say  of  a  man  that  something  is  good  from  his 
point  of  view  is  to  say  that  he  is  acting,  or  tends  to  act, 
as  an  integer.  In  human  experience,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
satisfactions  are  not  merely  accumulated.  A  man  may 
be  dissatisfied  because  he  enjoys  something  that  he  does 
not  approve.  He  may  seek  to  acquire  new  capacities 
for  enjoyment,  as  when  he  trains  himself  in  the  apprecia- 
tion of  poetry  or  of  music.  The  peculiarly  human  way 
of  dealing  with  satisfactions  is  to  relate  them  both  to 
objects  and  to  the  self,  and  to  judge  both.  It  follows 
that,  when  scales  of  values  are  concerned,  we  must  see  a 
person's  preferences  through  his  own  eyes  or  we  shall 
not  see  them  at  all. 

If  we  assume  in  advance  that  the  convert's  satis- 
factions conform  to  the  scale  that  we  ourselves  prefer, 
or  that  they  conform  to  types,  biological  or  other,  that 
take  no  account  of  the  conversion  experience  itself,  we 
proceed  by  an  a  priori  rather  than  empirical  method. 
In  order  to  be  objective  and  empirical,  we  must  let 


170  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

converts  tell  us  what  values  they  experience;  we  must 
inquire  whether  there  is  a  consensus  of  testimony,  and 
if  there  is  a  consensus  we  must,  in  the  absence  of  positive 
disproof,  accept  this  consensus  as  representing  an  actual 
part  of  the  order  of  nature.1 

1  The  doctrine  that  nature  has  no  preferences  is  not  empirically 
founded.  It  is  either  (a)  a  principle  of  method,  in  which  case  the  doctrine 
exists  because  it  is  itself  preferred,  or  (b)  a  bit  of  a  priori  speculation. 
There  is  good  reason  for  ignoring  preferences  in  certain  parts  of  research, 
but  there  is  also  the  best  of  reason  for  recognizing  them  in  other  parts. 
Whoever  says  that  nature  has  no  preferences,  or  that  if  they  exist 
science  should  ignore  them,  exhibits  in  his  own  person  a  case  of  prefer- 
ence that  has  scientific  interest.  For  scientific  method  itself  is  an 
expression  of  preferential  functions — the  functions  of  multiplying 
objects  of  experience,  of  unifying  them,  and  of  communication.  It 
involves  recognition  of  individuals  by  one  another,  each  of  whom  agrees 
(so  to  say),  in  consideration  of  the  mutual  benefits  to  be  received,  to 
look  through  the  others'  eyes  as  well  as  his  own.  Nothing  is  a  fact  for 
science  until  several  persons,  each  from  his  own  point  of  view,  have 
perceived  it.  The  organic  law  of  science  might  be  formulated  somewhat 
as  follows:  "We  the  undersigned  mutually  agree  that  in  the  assemblies 
and  the  publications  of  this  society  we  will  postpone  all  our  other  likes 
and  dislikes  in  order  that  we  may  indulge  together  our  liking  for  analysis; 
and  in  order  that  the  judgments  of  each  of  us  may  attain  to  objectivity, 
each  of  us  agrees  to  listen  respectfully  to  what  every  other  member  has 
to  say."  We  do  not  depart  from  scientific  method,  then,  if  we  go  on  to 
ask  what  are  these  postponed  likes  and  dislikes,  and  also  what  is  the 
kind  of  value  that  each  scientific  man  attributes  to  every  other  scientific 
man.  Let  it  be  noted,  too,  that  communication  of  points  of  view  from 
person  to  person  is  fundamental  in  every  science. 

The  "psychologist's  fallacy,"  which  consists  in  attributing  the  ways 
of  one's  own  mind  to  the  mind  that  one  is  studying,  appears  in  a  peculiar 
form  in  some  discussions  of  functions.  For  the  assumption  is  made  that 
the  biologist's  or  psychologist's  point  of  view  in  the  analysis  of  a  given 
satisfying  situation  is  the  point  of  view  of  the  situation  itself,  as  if  what 
all  men  are  really  after,  all  the  things  that  they  can  enjoy,  are  those  that 
fit  into  the  chosen  scheme  of  the  investigator.  It  is  often  said  that  the 
researcher  must  interrogate  his  facts.  It  would  seem  to  be  a  rather 
happy  circumstance  that  some  facts  are  able,  in  articulate  language,  to 
answer  questions  about  themselves! 


CONVERSION  171 

Postponing  for  a  moment  the  points  at  which  the 
testimony  of  converts  has  been  proved  to  be  untrust- 
worthy, let  us  see  whether  we  can  formulate  any  reason- 
ably certain  functions  of  the  conversion  experience.- 

v  i.  Conversion  certainly  involves,  not  merely  new 
satisfactions  measured  upon  an  old  scale,  but  also  and 
rather  the  adoption  of  a  more  satisfactory  scale.'  There 
are,  then,  various  scales  to  which  different  degrees  of 
satisfaction  attach,  at  least  in  these  cases.  Here  a  large 
problem  opens  out,  namely,  whether  these  cases  are  \ 
representative  of  any  general  law  of  satisfactions.  Some 
light  on  this  question  will  appear  in  the  next  paragraphs. 

2.  Conversion  is  a  step  in  the  creation  of  a  self — the 
actual  coming-to-be  of  a  self.     The  language  of  the 
parable  of  the  Prodigal  Son,  "he  came  to  himself/'  is 
scientifically  accurate.    In  conversion  the  pronoun  "my" 
acquires  meaning  that  it  did  not  have  before;    mere  v 
drifting,  mere  impulse,  are  checked;  my  conduct  and 
attitudes  attach  to  me  more  consciously;    I  stand  out 
in  a  new  way,  judging  myself  and  my  world,  and  giving 
the  loyalty  of  articulate  purpose  to  the  cause  with  which 

I  identify  myself.  This  achievement  of  a  fresh  self- 
realization  is  generally  a  permanent  gain,  not  merely  a 
momentary  ebullition.  From  the  testimony  of  Star- 
buck's  respondents  it  appears  "that  the  effect  of  con- 
version is  to  bring  with  it  a  changed  attitude  toward 
life  which  is  fairly  constant  and  permanent,  although 
the  feelings  fluctuate."1 

3.  Conversion  is  generally,  perhaps  always,  a  step 
in  the  creation  of  society.    The  heightened  realization  \ 
of  the  self  involves  the  refusal  of  desires  merely  as  mine. 

1  P.  361. 


172  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

A  distinction  is  made  between  a  lower,  illusory  self  and 
a  higher  or  valid  self;  and  this  validity  appears  to  be 
always  a  social  self-assertion.  Just  as  the  scientifically 
valid  proposition  is  the  " common  to  all"  as  against  the 
" particular  to  me,"  so  the  religiously  valid  self  is  the  one 
that  reaches  out  into  a  fellowship,  actual  or  imagined.1 
The  sense  of  emancipation  is  a  sense  of  being  where 
free  selves  are  at  home;  the  convert's  new  world  has 
the  standpoint  of  the  convert  himself;  it  is  suffused  j 
with  the  self -enlarging,  self -emancipating  principle. 
This  is  the  case  not  merely  in  Christian  conversions  fol- 
lowing upon  the  preaching  of  God  as  love,  but  in  other 
religions  also.  This  is,  no  doubt,  what  should  be  expected 
in  view  of  the  account  that  genetic  psychology  gives  of 
the  rise  of  ego-consciousness,  but  it  is  of  considerable 
importance  that  we  are  able  to  witness  the  same  social 
principle  at  work  precisely  where  the  ego  feels  itself  to 
be  most  completely  emancipated. 
-  The  early  Buddhist  legends  exhibit  the  principle 
rather  remarkably.  The  Buddhist  theology,  in  its 
fundamental  doctrine  of  the  nature  of  evil  and  of  sal- 
vation— that  suffering  arises  through  desire,  and  is  to 
be  overcome  by  extinguishing  desire — has  no  trace  of  a 
social  conception  of  the  ego  or  of  salvation.  For  no 
distinction  is  made  between  egoistic  and  social  points 
of  view.  Desire  as  such  is  represented  as  engendering 
evil,  and  the  evil  engendered  by  desire  is  represented  as 
having  its  seat  precisely  where  the  desire  is.  Neverthe- 
less, the  conversion  experience  of  both  the  Buddha  and 
his  first  disciples  is  represented  as  followed  by  a  burning 

1  It  should  be  noted  that  the  scientific  "common  to  all"  is,  to  a  ^ 
considerable  extent,  "common  to"  an  imagined  "all."    That  is,  science, 
as  well  as  religion,  has  its  ideal  society. 


CONVERSION  173 

desire  to  tell  others  and  thus  rescue  them  from  their 
suffering!  That  is,  one  kind  of  desire  did  remain,  the 
desire  for  mutual  self -emancipation,  but  this  desire, 
instead  of  enslaving  the  individual,  appears  as  taking 
part  in  emancipating  him. 

4.  There  is  no  psychological  dividing  line  in  the 
social  self-realization  of  the  convert  between  fellowship 
with  men  and  fellowship  with  the  divine.  Conversion  \ 
is  a  faith-creating  process,  specifically  social  faith.  The 
new  world  of  the  self  is  a  world  of  its  own  kind;  it  feels 
itself  in  and  into  (einfuhlen)  whatever  it  conceives. 
Its  values  define  its  real  objects.  Thus  it  is  that  con- 
version not  seldom  makes  real  or  brings  near  to  the 
individual  what  he  has  previously  accepted  merely  as 
instruction  from  others.  Heretofore  he  had,  to  use 
James's  distinction,  knowledge  about  God,  but  now  he 
has  acquaintance.  ^ 

The  process  here  can  easily  be  misinterpreted.  The 
convert  does  not  come  into  his  fellowship  with  God  by 
inferring  from  the  phenomenon  of  conversion  to  a  per- 
sonal cause  of  it.v  His  experience  of  self-emancipation 
is  to  him,  per  se,  a  satisfying  social  experience;  it  is  direct 
acquaintance  with  an  adequate  socius.  In  the  testi- 
mony of  converts  there  is  a  general  consensus  as  to  the 
immediacy  of  this  certainty.  We,  as  psychologists, 
noting  that  the  language  of  each  convert  reproduces  the 
instruction  that  he  has  received  from  a  particular  reli- 
gious communion,  are  certain  that  there  is  a  mediate 
element  in  what  the  convert  feels  as  wholly  immediate. 
We  know  that  in  accordance  with  the  law  of  suggestion 
he  experiences  what  he  is  told  to  expect.  He  may  thus 
become  certain  of  doctrines  that  may  or  may  not  be 
true.  He  may  misjudge  himself,  thinking  his  motives 


174  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

to  be  purer  and  simpler  than  they  are,  or  that  he  is 

firmly  established  when  he  is  still  weak  and  liable  to  fall. 

But  alongside  of  this  mediate  factor  there  is  a  factor  of 

immediacy  also.    Granted  that  his  training  has  prepared 

him  for  the  crisis,  and  that  conversion  puts  him  under 

f  the  control  of  existing  social  standards  and  ideas  of  God, 

*  the  fact  remains  that  conversion  makes  these  things  real 

to  the  convert.    Heretofore  he  had  "  knowledge  about " 

them;    now  he  has  " acquaintance  with"  them.     The 

world  or  God  has  meaning  for  him  and  makes  response 

now.    Here  is  no  mere  repetition  of  the  past,  for  the 

individual  is  a  new  and  unique  one,  and  this  experience 

\  as  his  is  as  fresh  as  the  creation  morn  itself. 

The  recognition  of  this  immediacy  does  not  commit 
us,  as  mere  observers,  to  the  affirmation  that  the  con- 
vert's sense  of  divine  communion  has  ultimate  validity. 
Validity  implies  the  possibility  of  a  social  judgment  as 
contrasted  with  the  impressions  of  an  individual.  The 
impressions  of  the  convert  are  to  be  tested  by  actual 
experiment,  on  the  part  of  the  many,  with  the  conditions 
for  realizing  a  self  and  for  realizing  the  presence  of  other 
selves.  Such  experimentation  is  going  on  in  the  whole 
of  our  social  intercourse  as  well  as  in  religious  conversion 
processes,  so  that  the  problem  of  validity  becomes  not 
merely,  Can  the  conversion  experience  be  repeated? 
but,  What  is  the  relation  of  the  "  self-and-s0cms"  experi- 
ence of  converts  to  the  whole  evolution  of  "self-and- 
socius"  in  the  race?  The  point  that  we  have  now 
reached  is  that  religious  conversion  is,  all  in  all,  a 
^-particular  instance  of  the  differentiation  of  the  individual 
consciousness,  which  is  also  social  consciouness,  the 
beginnings  of  which  were  referred  to  in  the  last  chapter. 


CHAPTER  XI 
MENTAL  TRAITS  OF  RELIGIOUS  LEADERS 

Of  the  common  qualities  of  leadership,  which  are 
found  in  religion  as  in  other  affairs,  there  is  no  occasion 
to  speak.  But  religious  leaders,  at  least  those  who 
attract  most  attention,  have  long  been  distinguished 
from  other  men  by  what  seem  to  be  certain  peculiar 
traits.  We  shall  now  inquire  what  these  traits  are, 
whether  they  are,  in  fact,  peculiar,  and  why  they  influence 
other  men  so  powerfully. 

First,  however,  it  is  advisable  to  discriminate  be- 
tween different  types  of  religious  leaders  and  of  religious 
leadership.  Nothing  is  easier,  or  more  speciously  falla- 
cious, than  to  characterize  religious  genius  by  a  few 
selected  experiences  "that  happen  to  fall  within  the  range 
of  one's  scientific  specialty.  If  I  am  a  specialist  in 
nervous  diseases,  I  am  bound  to  notice  the  frequency  of 
hallucination  and  other  signs  of  nervous  instability 
among  prominent  religionists,  and  consequently  I  shall 
be  in  danger  of  a  narrow  characterization  of  religious 
leaders  as  neurotics.  Medical  men  have  not  always 
avoided  this  error.  It  is  parallel  to  the  attempt  of  cer- 
tain writers  to  make  sexual  passion  the  fundamental 
motive  in  religion.  The  frequency  of  sexual  interest 
and  of  neurotic  symptoms  is  not  to  be  denied,  but  rarely 
does  either  of  these  suffice  to  characterize  a  man  or 
woman  who  attains  great  religious  influence.  Other 
qualities  are  prominent  and  influential  in  the  same  men 

175 


176  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

and  women,  and,  as  we  shall  see,  in  much  religious 
leadership  these  things  play  little  part  or  none  at  all. 

There  has  been,  in  fact,  an  evolution  of  religious 
leadership  that  is  part  and  parcel  of  the  evolution  of 
religion.  Three  broad  types  of  leader  are  distinguish- 
able,Hhe  shaman,  the  priest,  and  the  prophet,  and  these 
three  reach  the  climax  of  their  respective  influence  in 
this  historical  order — the  climax  only,  for  evolution  does 
not  separate  things  as  a  staircase  separates  different 
levels  by  a  vertical  rise.  Shamanism  persists  in  all 
religions,  though  not  in  all  religious  individuals,  and 
seeds  and  sprouts  of  late-maturing  plants  can  be  dis- 
cerned early  in  the  evolution.  Further,  the  terms 
"shaman,"  "priest,"  and  "prophet,"  as  here  used,  should 
not  be  taken  as  full  and  adequate  description;  they  are 
merely  centers  around  which  to  gather  bodies  of  related 
facts. 

i.  The  shaman. — Practically  everywhere  in  early 
religion  we  find  religious  specialists  who  correspond  in 
important  ways  to  the  persons  among  us  who  are  called 
"psychics."^  The  shaman  is  supposed  to  learn  and  reveal 
hidden  things,  such  as  the  future,  or  the  whereabouts  of  a 
lost  object,  or  the  doer  of  a  secret  act,  such  as  theft,  and 
to  influence  the  mysterious  forces,  all  by  processes  that 
we  recognize  as  subjective. x  A  typical  shamanistic  pro- 
cedure is  the  trance.  By  dancing  continued  to  the  point 
of  exhaustion,  or  by  exhausting  sweating  in  a  sweat 
lodge,  or  by  mental  numbing  brought  on  by  monotonous 
music,  prolonged  torture,  or  the  use  of  narcotic  drugs,  the 
shaman  gets  himself  out  of  his  usual  grooves,  is  shorn 
of  his  habitual  inhibitions,  and  passes  into  autohypnosis 
or  trance.  This  condition  involves  unresponsiveness  to 


MENTAL  TRAITS  OF  RELIGIOUS  LEADERS      177 

the  generality  of  stimuli,  with  focalized  responsiveness 
to  some  particular  sort  of  stimuli.  The  shaman  now 
acts  from  suggestions,  some  of  which,  based  upon  tribal 
traditions  and  upon  previous  experience  of  his  own,  he 
took  with  him  into  the  trance,  and  others  of  which  are 
derived  from  the  immediate  situation.  His  response  to 
these  suggestions  is  likely  to  take  the  form  of  visions — • 
he  sees  the  enemy,  or  the  god,  or  the  supposed  culprit, 
or  the  issue  of  the  impending  battle.  Sometimes  he 
speaks  automatically,  that  is,  the  impression  of  the  mo- 
ment passes  directly  into  involuntary  speech.  To  the 
beholders,  and  largely  to  the  shaman  himself,  all  this 
is  the  direct  expression  of  mana  or  of  some  more  definite 
being,  such  as  a  spirit,  by  which  he  is  "  possessed." 

According  to  the  tribe's  theory,  the  shaman  is  a 
leader  because  of  this  super-something  that  is  in  him. 
In  reality  his  leadership  is  due  to  at  least  three  factors: 
First  comes  the  impressiveness  of  the  trance  phenomenon 
itself,  and  the  fact  that  this  individual  experiences  trance 
more  than  his  fellows.  »  He  is  likely  to  have  a  special 
aptitude  for  trances;  that  is,  to  be  nervously  unstable,  a 
neurotic.  Certainly  spontaneous  trances  in  someone  are 
the  necessary  antecedent  of  the  cultivation  of  trance 
states.  Yet,  since  most  normal  individuals  can  be 
hypnotized,  the  automatisms  of  a  given  shaman  may 
have  been  induced  entirely  by  training  administered 
by  previous  shamans.  Nevertheless,  it  is  safe  to  assume 
that  a  neurotic  tendency,  if  it  is  not  too  extreme,  is  a 
help  to  religious  influence  at  this  stage  of  religious 
evolution. 

A  second  ground  of  shamanistic  influence  is  success 
in  doing  the  thing  that  the  people  desire.  Undoubtedly 


178  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

shamans — and  here  we  may  include  the  oracles — are 
sometimes  wise.  They  are  wise,  not  merely  because  they 
know  how  to  avoid  issues,  or  surreptitiously  to  gather 
information,  or  to  give  forth  ambiguities  that  can  be 
interpreted  in  accordance  with  the  event,  but  also  be- 
cause the  abstracted  mind  sometimes  gains  in  truth 
even  from  its  oversimplification.  It  seems  clear  that 
the  reducing  of  inhibitions,  the  dropping  of  things  from 
attention,  not  seldom  makes  the  really  important  fact 
seem  important.  -  Successful  guesses  at  character,  or 
solutions  of  problems,  or  prediction,  doubtless  do  thus 
occur  now  and  then,  redounding  to  the  glory  of  the 
shaman,  and  overbalancing  any  number  of  weaker  per- 
formances or  failures.  And  the  shaman  is  sometimes 
helped  unwittingly  by  others.  If  he  scrutinizes  the 
faces  of  the  whole  assembled  group  in  an  effort  to  find 
which  one  has  committed  a  theft,  the  culprit  will  be 
likely  to  wear  a  telltale  facial  expression.  Reading  ex- 
cited faces  is  a  well-developed  art  practiced  by  some 
who  pose  among  us  as  mind-readers.  v  Again,  the  en- 
couragement that  he  brings  to  the  anxious,  adding  to 
their  actual  power  as  well  as  comfort,  is  secure  ground 
for  the  shaman's  influence.  The  mere  prediction  of 
victory  in  battle  might  produce  the  courage  to  win  it. 

A  third  ground  of  the  shaman's  influence  is  wisdom 
gathered  from  habitual  dealing  with  public  interests. 
For  he  acts  for  the  group;  and  therefore  accustoms  him- 
self to  men,  to  the  graver  problems,  and  to  causes  and 
effects  (however  inadequately  he  may  analyze  them). 

These  are  the  foundations  of  the  shaman's  power  in 
his  group.  The  cornerstone  of  the  whole  is  automatisms 
interpreted  as  intercourse  with  the  superior  powers. 


MENTAL  TRAITS  OF  RELIGIOUS  LEADERS     179 

The  shaman  himself  shares  this  basal  belief  with  his 
group.  Nevertheless,  because  he  discovers  that  matters 
can  sometimes  be  helped  along  by  mixing  certain  volun- 

*  tary  performances  with  the  automatic,  he  becomes  a 
trickster  as  well  as  a  " psychic."    The  case  is  parallel 
with  that  of  some  modern  psychics  who  make  a  liveli- 
hood by  fortune-telling  or  by  securing  supposed  com- 
munications from  the  dead.    If  we  detect  such  a  person 
committing  a  fraud,  we  are  likely  to  suppose  that  he  is 
consciously  fraudulent  all  the  way  through,  whereas  he 
may  still  believe  that  " there's  something  in  it"  because 
of  the  presence  of  a  genuinely  automatic  factor  to  which 
he  knows  not  how  to  give  any  but  a  spiritistic  interpre- 
tation.   What  we  call  fraud  is  thus  in  part  his  way  of 
helping  on  what  he  believes  to  be  genuine  intercourse 
with  superior  powers. 

We  have  here  the  clue  to  some  modern  phenomena 
in  the  sphere  of  religious  leadership.  Even  the  founders 
of  some  of  our  newest  cults  exhibit  traces  of  shamanistic 
procedure.  This  is  true  of  Joseph  Smith,  of  Mrs.  Eddy, 
and  of  Mr.  Dowie,  though  in  unequal  degree.  Each  of 
these  leaders  mixed  shrewd  calculation  with  what  gave 
v  itself  forth  as  inspiration,  and  none  of  them  acknowl- 
edged the  mixture,  but  claimed  superindividual  authority 

-  for  the  whole.    The  question  is  often  asked  whether  they 
must  not  therefore  be  regarded  as,  to  this  extent,  con- 
scious impostors.     The  extent  and  audacity  of  Joseph 
Smith's  inventions  are  amazing.    Yet  mental  ability  to 
carry  through  his  plots  by  his  own  unsupported  designs 
was  not  his.    He  was  in  all  probability  inwardly  upborne 
by  what  seemed  to  be  a  power  beyond  himself.    His  very 
frauds  were  thereby,  we  may  well  suppose,  sanctified  in 


i8o  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

^  his  eyes.  This  inner  support,  in  turn,  gave  to  his  acts 
the  force  and  sureness  that  made  them  impressive  to  the 
_  people — his  fellows  took  him  at  his  word  partly  because 
he  believed  it  himself.  Mr.  Dowie  and  Mrs.  Eddy, 
though  each  represented  a  type  far  removed  from  that 
of  Joseph  Smith,  experienced,  nevertheless,  a  parallel 
inner  support  for  their  respective  inventions.  It  is  this 
that  gives  impressiveness  to  a  certain  oracular  or  magis- 
terial tone  that  would  otherwise  appear  as  spiritual 
impudence.  But,  as  with  shamanism,  so  with  Mormon- 
ism,  Dowieism,  and  Christian  Science:  the  spread  of  the 
movement  is  due  partly  to  the  added  fact  that  it  met 
real  needs — it  bore  desirable  fruit  that  the  people  could 
experience  for  themselves. v  In  all  three  instances  tem- 
poral blessings  were  achieved,  either  improved  health 
or  improved  economic  conditions,  and  in  all  three  there 
were  engendered  inner  strength  and  consciousness  of 
moral  triumph. 

2.  The  priest. — If  the  central  item  in  the  shaman's 

function  is  to  lay  hold  of  fresh  power  by  psychical  means, 

the  corresponding  item  in  priestly  functions  consists  in 

conserving  by  institutional  means  whatever  has  been 

attained.    This,  too,  is  leadership,  and  it  has  a  creative 

aspect;   though  it  is  conservative  rather  than  radical,  it 

is  not  mere  petrifaction.     The  priest,  seeing  to  it  that 

the  ceremonies  are  duly  observed;    that  sacred  places, 

times,  objects,  and  persons  are  kept  sacred;    that  the 

traditions  are  accurately  handed  down  from  generation 

to  generation  and  ultimately  committed  to  writing,  not 

I  only  repeats  the  utility  acts  which  the  shaman  originated, 

I  but  also  makes  an  immeasurable  contribution  to  the 

]  organization  of  a  firm  society.     Priesthoods  train  men 


MENTAL  TRAITS  OF  RELIGIOUS  LEADERS     181 

to  the  idea  of  law,  even  to  law  that  enforces  itself  by 
inner  rather  than  outer  force,  as  taboo,  divine  favor  or 
displeasure,  and  post-mortem  rewards  and  penalties. 
The  priestly  regime  likewise  trains  men  to  act  and  to 
feel  together.     Tribal  consciousness  and,  at  its  begin- 
nings, national  consciousness  are  inseparable  from  the 
circle  of  ideas  and  practices  over  which  the  priesthood 
presides.    In  his  own  way,  then,  the  priest  is  a  religious 
leader,  and  his  mental  traits  deserve  attention. 
I       Historically  the  shaman  and  the  priest  shade  into 
each  other.    Yet  the  shaman  type  yields  in  time  to  the 
priestly  type.     For  automatisms  are  not  easily  organiz- 
able  into  a  permanently  controlled  system.     The  tribe 
must  repeat  again  and  again  the  acts  that  secure  the 
help  of  the  superior  powers,  but  fresh  intercourse  with 
these  powers  by  the  way  of  " possession"  cannot  always 
be  guaranteed.     Besides,  early  acts  that  appear  to  be 
useful  become  hardened  into  custom,  so  that  the  cere- 
mony tends  to  go  on,  whatever  be  the  psychical  outcome 
of  fresh  resort  to  the  unseen  beings.    The  priestly  mind, 
accordingly,  is  the  mind  that  observes  times  and  seasons,^ 
holds  to  exact  forms  of  approaching  the  gods,  systema-  * 
tizes,  creates  orthodoxies,  and  finally  sets  up  mental 
kingdoms  and  empires  that  rival  in  real  power  the  civil 
and   military   authorities.     Not   self-abandonment   to 
fresh  impulse,  not  intuitive  certainties,  but  the  logic  of 
consistency,   with  an  ever-present  assumption  of  the 
validity  of  the  past— this  is  priestliness.    Hence,  among  ^ 
other  things,  the  punctilious  writing  down  of  the  exact 
formula  for  the  sacrifice,  the  effort  to  preserve  the  very 
words  of  religious  founders,  the  interpretation  of  national 
history  in  terms  of  religious  doctrine — in  short,  the  birth 


182  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

of  sacred  literatures.  Here,  of  course,  is  opportunity, 
much  used,  for  dead  formalism,  mechanical  routine,  and 
lazy  revenues  (the  priest's  portion  of  the  sacrifice,  etc.), 
i  yet  all  in  all  the  priestly  mind  has  shown  upon  occasion 
aggression  and  resistance  and  organizing  ability. 

3.  The  prophet. — The  term  "prophet"  is  used  in  two 
main  senses.    On  the  one  hand  it  is  made  to  cover  all 
of  the  more  directly  psychical,  as  distinguished  from 
priestly  and  ceremonial,  methods  of  intercourse  with 
the  gods.    Thus  the  shamanistic  performance  of  Israel's 
bands  of  soothsayers,  of  Saul  when  he  fell  into  a  trance, 
of  Elisha  when  he  called  for  music  as  a  means  to  insight — 
these  on  the  one  hand — and  the  ethical  preaching  of 
Amos  and  the  statesmanship  of  Isaiah,  on  the  other  hand, 
are  all  called  "prophecy."    But  at  times  prophecy  means 
specifically  the  experience  that  sets  such  men  as  Isaiah 
and  Amos  apart  from  both  the  priests  and  the  sooth- 
saying types  of  so-called  "prophets."     In  this  restricted 
sense  the  term  will  be  used  here.    It  points  to  the  fact  • 
that  from  time  to  time,  in  various  religions,  leaders  have  ^ 
arisen  who  have  gone  directly  to  the  sources  of  religious  / 
life,  thus  setting  themselves  in  contrast  with  the  priests » 
and  the  priestly  system;  it  points  also  to  a  second  fact 
of  the  first  importance,  namely,  that  this  going  to  the 
sources,  though  it  is  continuous  with  shamanism,  never- 
theless transcends  it,  and  contrasts  with  it  not  less 
strongly  than  it  contrasts  with  pries tliness. 
,-    The  most  accessible  and  illuminating  instances  are 
(the  great  prophets  of  Israel.     "I  hate,  I  despise  your 
feasts,  and  I  will  take  no  delight  in  your  solemn  assem- 
blies," says  Amos,  speaking  in  the  name  of  Jahwe. 
"Yea,  though  ye  offer  me  your  burnt  offerings  and  meal 


MENTAL  TRAITS  OF  RELIGIOUS  LEADERS     183 

offerings,  I  will  not  accept  them:  neither  will  I  regard 
the  peace  offerings  of  your  fat  beasts.  Take  thou  away 
from  me  the  noise  of  thy  songs;  for  I  will  not  hear  the 
melody  of  thy  viols'1  (Amos  5:21-23).  Here  is  the 
prophetic  protest  against  the  ceremonial  or  priestly  con- 
ception of  Jahwe's  dealings  with  Israel,  a  revulsion  from 
orthodox  institutionalism  toward  the  primal  sources  of 
religious  feeling.  But  this  is  less  than  half  the  story. 
The  spiritual  lineage  of  Amos  goes  backward,  in  impor- 
tant respects,  toward  shamanism.  For  he  feels  himself 
to  be  the  immediate  mouthpiece  of  Jahwe;  he  experi- 
ences a  kind  of  possession.  But  the  contrast  with  sha- 
manism is  as  great  as  that  with  priestly  institutionalism. 
It  is  no  return  to  shamanism  that  Amos  desires.  "Let 
judgment  roll  down  as  waters,  and  righteousness  as  a 
mighty  stream"  (5:24);  "Hear  this,  O  ye  that  would 
swallow  up  the  needy,  and  cause  the  poor  of  the  land 
to  fail,  saying,  When  will  the  new  moon  be  gone,  that  we 
may  sell  corn  ?  and  the  sabbath,  that  we  may  set  forth 
wheat  ?  making  the  ephah  small,  and  the  shekel  great, 
and  dealing  falsely  with  balances  of  deceit;  that  we  may 
buy  the  poor  for  silver,  and  the  needy  for  a  pair  of  shoes, 
and  sell  the  refuse  of  the  wheat"  (8:4-6).  Here  at  last 
is  religious  leadership  that,  conceiving  God  predom- 
inantly as  ethical  will,  regards  ethical  conduct  as  the 
service  of  God  and  the  prophet's  own  ethical  fervor  as 
divine  inspiration.  It  is  true  that  the  great  prophets 
experienced  dreams  and  visions;  it  is  true  that  these 
automatisms  were  interpreted  as  divine  possession  after 
the  manner  of  shamanism;  but  the  complementary 
truth  is  that  a  distinction  was  made  between  true  and 
false  prophets  upon  the  basis  of  the  content  of  their' 


184  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

respective  messages. v  The  true  prophet  must  speak 
ethical  truth  without  compromise.  "The  prophet  is  a 
fool,  the  man  that  hath  the  spirit  is  mad!"  Hosea's 
hearers  seem  to  say,  and  he  retorts,  "It  is  for  the  multi- 
tude of  thine  iniquity,  and  because  the  enmity  is  great" 
(Hos.  11:7). 

Here  is  a  transition  point  in  religious  leadership,  the 
rise  of  a  fresh  conception  of  the  leader's  intercourse  with 
the  god.  Inspiration  or  divine  possession  is  now  evidenced 
by  ethical  fervor.  This  is  too  simple  a  statement,  it  is 
true,  to  represent  the  whole  historical  situation.  It 
was  a  complex  made  up  partly  of  shamanistic,  in  some 
cases  more  or  less  priestly  and  nationalistic,  assumptions. 
But  the  idea  that  ethical  communion  with  the  divine 
being  is  the  essential  religious  experience  did  reach  the 
surface  in  this  prophetic  movement,  and  this  is  the  dis- 
tinctive mark  of  this  most  remarkable  group  of  religious 
leaders.  That  their  proffered  guidance  was  accepted 
at  the  time  in  only  a  minor  degree,  the  nation  turning 
rather  with  renewed  devotion  to  priestly  ceremonialism 
and  orthodoxy,  does  not  detract  from  the  claims  of  these 
ethical  prophets  to  a  place  in  the  world's  list  of  its 
greatest  leaders.  For  the  sacerdotalism  that  fastened 
itself  upon  the  people  wore  out,  while  the  prophetic  mes- 
sage gained  in  power  through  the  centuries.  It  was  the 
prophetic,  not  the  priestly,  element  in  Judaism  that  ^ 
attracted  Jesus  and  formed  his  character  and  the  basis  ] 
of  his  message;  and  Paul,  in  spite  of  his  legalistic  train- 
ing, and  in  spite  of  a  strong  tendency  to  automatisms, 
was  conquered  by  it. 

The  career  and  the  writings  of  Paul  present  an 
extraordinary  instance  of  the  coexistence  in  one  indi- 


MENTAL  TRAITS  OF  RELIGIOUS  LEADERS      185 

vidual  of  the  qualities  that  underlie  all  three  types  of 
leadership.  In  the  first  place,  he  had  a  luxuriant  experi- 
ence of  the  sort  of  automatisms  that  might  have  made 
him  a  great  leader  of  the  shamanistic  type.  He  had  ' 
visions,  fell  into  trances,  spoke  and  wrote  under  conscious 
inspiration,  spoke  in  " tongues"  abundantly  (an  auto- 
matic phenomenon  that  will  be  described  in  the  next 
chapter).  '  But,  in  the  second  place,  there  was  much  of 
the  priest  in  him,  both  by  reason  of  his  training  as  a 
strict  Pharisee  and  by  reason  of  the  natural  qualities 
of  his  mind.  A  maker  of  distinctions,  a  systematizer,  a 
lover  of  precedent  and  of  consistency,  an  organizer,  a 
juler  of  his  followers — think  how  all  this,  added  to 
the  whole  body  of  assumptions  involved  in  his  train- 
ing as  a  Pharisee,  fitted  him  to  be  the  originator  of  a 
rigid  priesthood.  Yet  both  the  shamanistic  and  the 
priestly  tendencies  within  him  were  resisted  and  trans- 
cended, though  not  at  all  extirpated,  by  the  influence  V 
upon  him  of  the  prophetic  spirit  of  Jesus.  Paul's 
immortal  ode  on  love  is  a  direct  and  specific  com- 
parison of  the  values  of  the  shamanistic  and  the  pro- 
phetic principles  respectively.  He  is  dealing  with  the 
extreme,  disorderly  automatisms  of  the  circle  at  Corinth. 
He  expresses  a  wish  that  all  the  Corinthian  Christians 
might  speak  in  tongues  (I  Cor.  14:5).  He  thanks  God 
that  he  himself  speaks  in  tongues  more  even  than  any- 
one there  (14:18).  He  believes,  with  shamanism,  that 
this  experience  is  actually  a  divine  taking  possession 
of  one's  vocal  organs,  yet,  unlike  shamanism,  he  is 
ready  to  judge  it  by  its  fruits.  As  far  as  it  leads  to 
disorder,  it  is  to  be  condemned,  and  anyhow,  he  exclaims, 
"In  the  church  I  had  rather  speak  five  words  with  my 


i86  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

understanding,  that  I  might  instruct  others  also,  than 
ten  thousand  words  in  a  tongue"  (14: 19) !  Further,  he 
prefers  " prophecy,"  or  inspirational  speech  in  the  lan- 
guage of  the  people.  He  prefers  it  because  it  can  be  . 
understood,  and  also  because  it  can  be  controlled  by  the 
speaker  (14:1-33).  Without  completely  reconciling 
these  various  supposed  sorts  of  direct  intercourse  with 
God,  Paul  actually  attains  the  notion  of  sitting  in  ethical 
judgment  upon  anything  that  offers  itself  as  a  divine 
message./  Process  is  to  be  judged  by  content  and  tend- 
ency. 'In  principle  this  asserts  that  true  communion 
with  God  is  had  in  our  ethical  impulses,  judgments, 
decisions,  and  actions.  He  summarizes  his  position  on 
another  occasion  thus:  " Quench  not  the  Spirit;  despise 
not  prophesyings  [the  automatic];  scrutinize  all  things; 
hold  fast  that  which  is  good;  abstain  from  every  kind 
of  evil"  (I  Thess.  5:19-21).  This  is  the  setting  of  his 
ode  on  love.  He  contrasts  love  with  the  whole  wonder- 
awakening  group  of  automatisms,  and  even  with  knowl- 
edge, dear  as  knowledge  is  to  his  extraordinary  intellect, 
and  leaves  us  with  this  ultimate  principle :  The  supreme 
and  normative  experience  of  God  is  ethical  love.1 

The  fundamental  trait  of  our  third  type  of  religious 
)  leader,  then,  is  a  broad  and  intense  sociality  that  tran- 
!  scends  mere  institutionalism   because  it  individualizes 
\^men  as  objects  of  love.    The  leader  is  now,  in  a  high  ethical 
sense,  the  lover,  and  he  is  able  to  lead  because  he  loves,  , 
and  therein  represents  God.    This  is  the  open  secret  of 
Jesus'  influence  upon  men.    The  records  of  his  life  are! 

1  By  ethical  love  I  mean  the  broader  social  will — broader,  that  is, 
than  conjugal  fondness,  parental  regard,  or  the  partiality  of  a  narrow 
friendship. 


MENTAL  TRAITS  OF  RELIGIOUS  LEADERS     187 

too  meager  to  enable  us  to  speak  in  much  detail  of  his 
mental  traits,  and  the  critical  questions  that  still  gather 
around  the  Gospels  involve,  to  some  extent,  the  inter- 
pretation of  his  mind  and  of  his  attitudes.  Nevertheless, 
it  can  be  said  with  confidence  that  he  represents  a 
reaction  against  the  sacerdotal  conception  of  divine 
communion,  and  that,  though  he  appears  to  have  experi- 
enced some  automatisms  that  he  interpreted  as  special 
divine  impartations,  these  were  not  the  staple  of  his 
reliance  either  for  himself  or  for  others.  That  is,  of 
shamanism  there  are  only  minor  traces  even  in  the 
records,  which  are  themselves  interpretations  and  not 
portraits,  and  sacerdotalism  is  directly  opposed.  That 
he  was  a  wonder-worker,  a  healer  of  diseases  by  what  we 
recognize  as  suggestion,  does  not  indicate  that  he 
occupied  the  standpoint  that  I  have  called  shamanism. 
He  healed  the  people  because  of  his  overwhelming  sym- 
pathy, not  as  a  means  of  dominating  them.  How  he 
wrought  his  cures  was  obviously  insignificant  to  him, 
compared  with  the  joyous  fact  that  the  people  were 
lifted  out  of  their  distresses.  He  was  not  a  shaman, 
but  a  servant  of  the  people. 

Even  if  criticism  should  prove  that  he  held  to  an 
extreme  catastrophic  view  of  the  coming  of  the  Kingdom; 
even  if  we  should  be  obliged  to  believe  that  he  was 
ultimately  a  disillusioned  idealist  (that  is,  that  he  ex- 
pected to  be  accepted  during  his  earthly  lifetime  as  the 
promised  Messiah),  what  has  been  said  still  holds  true 
of  his  mental  traits,  and  it  contains  the  explanation  of 
his  power  over  men.  His  simple  trust  in  a  Father  who 
understands  us  and  brings  good  to  pass  even  through 
seeming  ill;  his  equally  simple  valuation  of  human  life, 


i88  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

as  if  ungrudging,  unsparing  helpfulness  were  the  most 
natural  thing  in  the  world;  his  penetrating  conceptions 
of  right  and  wrong,  as  if  he  simply  gazed  upon  the  thing 
he  talked  about;  a  certain  moral  irresistibility  because 
he  reduces  the  problems  of  conduct  to  simple  issues  of 
ethical  love — these  are  the  grounds  of  his  influence.  In 
some  important  respects  his  influence  resembles  that  of 
Lincoln.  Jesus  had  the  same  homespun  feeling  for 
" folks,"  the  same  appreciation  of  friendship,  correspond- 
ing directness  of  perception  and  picturesqueness  of 
speech,  quiet  courage,  a  more  than  full  measure  of 
patient  endurance,  something  even  of  the  same  humor. 
This  is  the  sort  of  leadership  that  describes  itself  in  the 
old  saying,  "We  love  him  because  he  first  loved  us."  x. 
These  examples,  though  they  are  drawn  from  a  single 
stream  of  religious  tradition,  are  representative  of  reli- 
gious leadership  as  a  whole.  There  are  types  of  leader- 
ship, as  there  are  grades  of  culture.  It  is  a  narrow  view 
that  thinks  to  explain  the  influence  of  Paul,  of  Jesus,  of 
the  Buddha,  or  of  Mohammed  by  saying  that  each  was 
more  or  less  neurotic,  or  even  epileptic,  and  that  the 
people  took  his  abnormalities  for  divine  possession. 
In  two  of  these  cases  at  least  the  neurotic  hypothesis 
rests  on  slight  ground.  That  Jesus  is  said  to  have  had  a 
vision  or  two,  and  the  Buddha  a  sudden  life-enlightening 
conversion,  by  no  means  proves  them  neurotic  in  any 
useful  sense  of  this  term.  Such  experiences  come  to 
minds  that  function  so  capably  that  only  under  the 
exigencies  of  some  overworked  theory  can  they  be  called 
"abnormal."  To  characterize  as  neurotic  any  mind  that 
experiences  a  well-marked  automatism  is  to  make  the 
term  "neurotic"  scientifically  useless.  The  ultimate 


MENTAL  TRAITS  OF  RELIGIOUS  LEADERS     189 

test  of  mental  morbidity,  whether  of  the  extreme  sorts, 
called  " imbecility"  and  " insanity,"  or  of  the  milder  sorts, 
called  "neurotic,"  is  one's  ability  to  fulfil  one's  functions 
as  a  member  of  society.  Neurasthenia,  for  example,  is 
to  be  classed  as  a  mental  disorder,  not  because  it  involves 
a  mental  process  that  is  peculiar  to  neurasthenics,  but 
because  certain  processes  that  are  common  to  all  men 
are  here  present  in  so  excessive  or  one-sided  a  way  as 
obviously  to  interfere  with  the  carrying  on  of  life's 
business  in  co-operation  with  others.  Neither  Jesus  nor 
the  Buddha  was  made  weak  or  inefficient  by  automatisms 
that  he  may  have  experienced;  neither  trafficked  in 
them  after  the  manner  of  the  shaman;  neither  relied 
upon  them  as  the  basis  of  his  certainty  of  the  principles , 
that  he  taught,  but  each  rested  the  authority  of  his\ 
teachings  either  upon  analysis  of  life  or  else  upon  the 
practical  self-evidence  of  basal  ethical  icleals ;  neither  was 
separated  from  men  by  any  mental  peculiarity,  but  each 
i  was  drawn  to  men  and  drew  men  to  him  by  compas- 
'  sionate  helpfulness.  Finally,  though  each  was  a  dissenter 
from  the  existing  social-religious  order,  each  dissented, 
[.especially  Jesus,  in  the  interest  of  a  wider  and  deeper 
1  sociality.  That  the  shamanistic  features  added  by  tra- 
dition to  the  picture  of  each  of  these  prophets,  and  the 
so-to-say  "rabbinical"  doctrines  that  offered  themselves 
as  the  historical  story  had  influence  with  succeeding 
generations,  is  undeniable.  Antagonistic  elements  mix 
in  any  evolutionary  process.  But  the  specific  ground 
of  the  personal  influence  involved,  the  reason  why  tra- 
dition selected  these  particular  men  as  first  among  the 
sons  of  men,  cannot  have  been  either  a  shamanistic  or  a 
priestly  element  in  the  men  themselves,  but  rather  the 


i  go  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

element  of  ethical  prophecy,  the  fresh  resort  to  new  and 
ethically  higher  sources  of  religious  experience. 

Signs  of  neurotic  mental  make-up  are  far  more 
abundant  in  Paul  and  Mohammed.  Mohammed's 
visions  and  auditions  were  numerous  and  apparently 
vivid.  *  A  true  shamanistic  touch  appears,  moreover, 
when  he  has  visions  that  seem  as  if  made  to  order  for 
the  obvious  purpose  of  carrying  his  point  in  certain 
disputes.  That  these  automatisms  helped  to  give  him 
sanctity  and  authority  in  the  eyes  of  the  people  need 
not  be  doubted.  'The  remaining  question  is  whether 
the  messages  that  he  uttered  had  a  prophetic  character, 
and,  if  so,  what  part  they  had  in  making  Mohammed 
the  great  leader  that  he  became.  His  general  capacity 
for  vigor  and  persistence  in  action  is  sufficiently  wit- 
nessed by  the  way  in  which  he  organized  his  followers 
and  led  them  to  victory  against  great  opposition.  What 
is  more  significant  is  that  he  was  a  religious  and  social 
reformer.  His  message,  seen  in  the  light  of  contem- 
porary religious  crudity  and  social  unintegration,  was  of 
the  prophetic  type.  -  It  was  to  a  relatively  exalted  con- 
ception of  God  that  he  called  men,  and  to  certain  pro- 
gressive, though  limited,  notions  of  social  duty.*  These, 
rather  than  the  automatic  form  that  his  originality  took, 
are  his  distinguishing  marks.  There  were  ten  thousand 
men  who  could  have  visions  to  one  who  could  conceive 
such  thoughts,  but  it  was  this  one  to  whom  the  people 
clave. 

Our  study  of  what  makes  one  a  leader  brings  us,  of 
course,  to  a  consideration  of  what  it  is  that  the  people 
desire,  or  at  least  are  ready  to  follow.  That  grounds  of 
religious  leadership  evolve,  as  we  have  now  seen,  implies 


MENTAL  TRAITS  OF  RELIGIOUS  LEADERS     191 

that  parallel  changes  occur  in  the  springs  of  action  in  the 
whole  religious  body.  Here  opens  the  wide  problem  of 
wherein  mental  evolution  consists.  In  what  sense,  if 
any,  does  human  nature  remain  the  same,  and  in  what 
sense  does  it  move?  Postponing  this  question  to  sub- 
sequent chapters,  let  us  close  the  examination  of  the 
elements  of  religious  leadership  by  a  word  concerning 
the  more  obvious  relations  between  the  leaders  and  the 
led.  It  is  obvious  that  religious  evolution  is  a  movement 
in  which  both  the  leaders  and  the  led  are  carried  along. 
The  notions,  once  seriously  held,  that  religion  was 
largely  invented  and  imposed  upon  the  people  by  priest- 
craft or  statecraft,  are,  as  we  now  see,  so  unhistorical 
as  to  be  preposterous.  A  leader  does  not  manufacture 
religion  any  more  than  a  gardener  makes  a  rose.  In 
religion  as  in  floriculture  there  is  a  fundamental,  spon- 
taneous  process  which  is  guided  more  or  less  toward 
specific  products  by  individual  action. 

To  be  more  specific,  there  are  three  sorts  of  thing  that 
religious  leaders  may  do.  First,  a  leader  may  embody, 
focalize,  and  render  effective  an  already  germinating 
standpoint  of  the  people  by  bringing  it  to  conscious 
definition .<  He  makes  them  see  what  it  is  that  they 
already  want,  or  he  guides  them  in  a  particular  procedure 
for  obtaining  what  they  want.  The  revealing  of  men 
to  themselves  is  what  gives  such  apparent  self-evidence 
to  the  greatest  prophetic  messages,  and  this  is  also  one 
ground  of  the  impression  that  God  himself  speaks 
through  the  prophet.  Secondly,  a  leader  may  bring 
victory  to  one  of  two  or  more  competing  attitudes, 
policies,  or  beliefs  of  society.  He  may  do  it  by  superior 
definition,  argument,  and  emotional  appeal;  or  by 


IQ2  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

organizing  a  party;    or  by  presenting  some  apparently 
supernatural  sanction,  whether  from  tradition  and  prece- 
dent, or  from  some  fresh  divine  interposition.    Thirdly, 
a  leader  may  be  thus  not  only  a  lens  through  which  light 
already  shining  from  some  large  portion  of  the  popula-1 
tion  is  brought  to  a  focus,  but  also  the  one  through  whom! 
a  particular  ray  enters  the  social  complex.    Originality  | 
in  the  full  sense  of  insight  that  has  not  before  existed 
in  the  race  is  implied,  of  course,  in  the  general  progress 
of  knowledge.  *Each  item  of  this  progress  begins  with 
some  individual  who  sees  something  that  his  predecessors 
did  not  see.-  Similarly,  ethical  progress  in  any  direction 
is  initiated  by  some  individual  or  individuals  whose 
satisfactions  and  dissatisfactions  are  different  from  those 
of  other  persons.     This   is   ethical   originality,   which 
becomes  creativeness  whenever  it  effectively  organizes 
and  propagates   itself.     How   far  a  particular  genius 
focuses  existing  light  and  how  far  he  emits  an  original 
ray  is  generally  hard  to  make  out,  but  the  fact  of  such 
original  radiation  of  light,  and  the  other  fact  of  great 
differences  in  the  amount  and  color  of  light  radiated  by 
different  individuals  must  be  recognized.    The  religious  i 
genius,  like  other  geniuses,  is  always  in  a  true  sense  a  ' 
product  of  his  time  and  of  his  people,  though  he  is  more  \ 
than  a  mere  product  thereof.    Granted  a  genuine  mental 
evolution,   together  with  genuine  differences   between 
individuals,  the  way  is  open  for  a  reasonable  recognition 
of  originality  in  any  degree.    The  degree  of  it  in  a  par- 
ticular case  has  to  be  determined,  as  well  as  may  be,  by 
historical  study  of  the  entire  situation. 


CHAPTER  XII 
RELIGION  AND  THE  SUBCONSCIOUS 

In  an  earlier  chapter  reference  was  made  to  the  fact 
that  certain  attitudes  that  seem  to  introspection  to  be 
entirely  new  are  nevertheless  the  result  of  an  unrecognized 
ripening  process.  There  are,  in  fact,  multitudes  of  experi- 
ences in  which  an  apparently  ready-made  mental  product 
makes  its  appearance,  giving  an  impression  that,  though 
it  is  " within  me,"  it  is  not  altogether  "mine."  This 
" something  more"  yields  the  general  problem  of  the 
subconscious. 

Religious  experiences  that  involve  this  "something 
more"  readily  lend  themselves  to  the  following  pre- 
liminary classification: 

i.  Visions  and  voices  that  seem  to  the  one  who  has 
them  to  embody  or  convey  information,  as  of  the  divine 
presence,  the  divine  will,  or  the  future. 
"*  2.  Impressions  that  something  is  true,  as  that  a  cer- 
tain person  is  or  is  not  sincere  ("discerning  of  spirits"); 
that  a  certain  event  is  to  take  place;  that  this  or  that 
is  one's  duty;  that  God  is  personally  present,  though 
he  is  invisible  and  inaudible;  that  he  has  a  certain 
attitude  toward  one  (as  "condemnation"  and  "witness 
of  the  Spirit");  or  that  this  or  that  is  the  correct 
interpretation  of  a  passage  of  Scripture. 

v  3.  Involuntary  muscular  reactions  of  many  sorts 
that  give  an  impression  that  one's  body  is  being  partly 
or  wholly  controlled  by  a  will  other  than  one's  own.  A 

193 


IQ4  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

minister  who  participated  in  the  great  revival  in  Ken- 
tucky in  1 80 1  gives  the  following  classification  of  cases 
that  fell  under  his  observation :  the  falling  exercise;  the 
jerks;  the  dancing  exercise;  the  barking  exercise  (grunts 
in  connection  with  jerks);  the  laughing  exercise;  the 
running  exercise;  and  the  singing  exercise.1  "  Getting 
the  power"  seems  to  have  been  a  popular  designation 
in  some  parts  of  the  country  for  extreme  loss  of  muscular 
control,  manifested  by  falling  and  lying  prone  for  a 
period.  In  one  direction  these  phenomena  reach  a  climax 
in  " speaking  in  tongues,"  which  is  involuntary  move- 
ment of  the  speech  organs  through  which  they  form 
sounds,  sometimes  articulate  syllables,  supposed  by  the 
subject  to  express  meanings  in  a  tongue  that  he  has 
never  learned.  Sometimes,  in  our  day  as  in  New  Testa- 
ment times,  ''another  interprets,"  that  is,  gives  in  the 
language  of  the  assembly  the  supposed  meaning  of  that 
which  has  been  spoken  "in  a  tongue."  The  interpreter 
of  tongues  obviously  follows  impressions  in  the  region 
of  ideas,  so  that  his  experience  falls  under  the  second 
classification,  and  is  parallel  with  that  of  the  "inspira- 
tional speakers"  who  appear  at  meetings  of  spiritualists. 
Just  as  the  vocal  apparatus  may  come  under  this  appar- 
ently foreign  control,  so  may  the  apparatus  for  writing, 
as  happens  with  many  mediums.  On  the  other  hand, 
some  writing  mediums  say  that  they  control  their  hands 
in  the  usual  way,  but  that  the  ideas  are  given  whole  and 
not  "  thought  out."2  Thus,  the  sort  of  internal  dialogue 

1  The  Biography  of  Elder  Barton  Warren  Stone,  Written  by  Himself 
(Cincinnati,  1847). 

2  Quoting  Montgeron,  La  Verite  des  Miracles  (1737),  Marie  and 
Vallon  point  out  that  the  Jansenists  were  sometimes  able,  in  one  and 
the  same  discourse,  to  discriminate  three  degrees  of  inspiration:  (i)  ideas 


RELIGION  AND  THE  SUBCONSCIOUS  195 

in  which  we  do  our  ordinary  thinking,  which  is  recognized 
as  an  inner  talking  to  one's  self,  may  be  displaced  by  an 
inner  dialogue  in  which  one  or  both  of  the  conversers 
seem  to  be  other  than  one's  self.1  The  " inner  voice"  or 
voices,  too,  may  take  the  aspect  of  actual  sounds  instead 
of  a  give  and  take  of  ideas  merely,  in  which  case  we  have 
an  audition  (see  i). 

4.  In  addition  to  these  three  sorts  of  rather  well-  / 
defined  reaction  there  are  inner  realizations  of  a  more  I 
general  or  even  vague  kind  that  seem  likewise  to  the 
subject  of  them  to  be  " something  more"  than  the 
"mine."  As  many  an  adolescent  has  suddenly  dis- 
covered an  inexpressible  meaning  in  such  familiar  sights 
as  the  starry  sky,  or  a  forest,  or  the  sunset  afterglow,  so 
I  a  state  of  elation  or  of  depression  has  often  seemed  to 
religious  persons  to  be  a  communicated  insight,  not 
merely  a  mood.  The  case  of  anesthetic  revelation 
reported  in  the  chapter  on  "Conversion"  presents 
merely  an  extreme  instance  of  the  practically  universal 
objectifying  of  the  affective  qualities  of  our  experience. 
Even  the  general  urge  of  life  that  makes  men  take  the 
side  of  hope  rather  than  of  despair,  and  to  trust  that 
the  world  is  more  rational  than  it  seems  from  the  angle  * 

take  hold  of  the  speaker  in  a  manner  that  he  feels  to  be  supernatural; 
(2)  though  at  first  he  uses  his  own  language  to  express  them,  there 
comes  a  time  when  the  expressions  themselves  are  internally  dictated  to 
him;  (3)  finally,  the  vocal  apparatus  speaks  involuntarily  and  without 
any  apparent  previous  thought  (A.  Marie  et  Ch.  Vallon,  "Des  Psychoses 
religieuses,"  Archives  de  Neurologic,  II,  No.  12,  429). 

1  A  small  boy  was  heard  to  pray  as  follows:  "Now  I  got  a  favor  to 
ask  you,  and  you  sure  to  do  it:  Take  the  goodest  care  you  can  of  M. 
and  N.  YES,  I  WILL!  For  Jesus'  sake,  Amen."  The  "Yes,  I  will," 
uttered  in  stentorian  tones,  was  undoubtedly  the  child's  dramatic 
participation  in  the  supposed  response  of  God. 


196  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

of  our  partial  experience,   is   taken  by  many  as   the 
utterance  " within  us"  of  an  ultimate  truth. 

What,  now,  is  the  problem  that  psychology  has  to 
face  in  such  facts  ?  That  a  problem  arises  here  at  all  is 
because  much  experience,  to  say  the  least,  is  given  as 
the  experience  of  individual  selves.  Even  if  we  should 
become  convinced  that  mind-stuff  exists  beyond  and 
between  the  focal  points  called  selves,  or  that  sensations 
and  desires  could  float  about  as  isolated  psychic  states, 
we  should  still  have  to  take  individual  selves  into  account, 
regarding  this  experience  as  belonging  to  A,  while  that 
belongs  to  B,  and  sooner  or  later  asking  how  far  A's 
and  B's  possessions  respectively  extend.  It  is  important 
to  note  that  the  possessive  "my"  stands  for  a  phase  of 
experience  as  it  is  given.  It  is  a  datum,  not  a  derivative 
through  analysis  or  through  association.  We  can,  in- 
deed, pull  apart  the  items  that  we  call  mine,  as  my 
clothes,  my  body,  and  my  pains  and  pleasures.  But  ' 
we  cannot  arrive  at  a  "mine"  by  the  reverse  process  of. 
adding  together  items  which  to  start  with  are  merely 
"this's"  and  not  already  "my's."  Each  "my"  is  a 
unique  datum,  each  self  is  an  individual. 

NBut  it  does  not  follow  that  selves  are  isolated  and 
mutually  exclusive  atoms.     Whether  or  not  any  item 
in  my  mental  life  is  exclusively  or  wholly  mine  is  not 
determined  by  saying  that  it  certainly  is  mine.    Joints 
ownership  is  a  possible  conception.     As  the  same  um- 
brella may  shield  two  persons  from  rain,  so  one  brain 
might  conceivably  be  "mine"  to  more  than  one  self .  ^ 
Moreover,   several  selves  might  have  the  very  same 
thing — as  sun  or  moon — as  "my"  object,  and  the  very 
same  end  in  view  as  "my"  end. 


RELIGION  AND  THE  SUBCONSCIOUS  197 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  no  atomic  exclusiveness  anywhere 
appears.  My  own  "my,"  along  with  my  birth,  is  not  a 
matter  of  my  own  devising;  it  arises 

Out  of  the  deep, 

Where  all  that  was  to  be,  in  all  that  was, 
WhirPd  for  a  million  aeons  through  the  vast 
Waste  dawn  of  multitudinous — eddying  light. 

— Tennyson,  De  Profundis. 

Moreover,  this  rising  "out  of  the  deep"  is  not  merely  a 
single  event  at  the  dawn  of  my  consciousness;  every 
pulse  of  my  self  has  the  same  character.  The  "mine,"' 
that  is  to  say,  is  always  more  than  mine,  even  a  part  of  ' 
the  vast  ongoing  that  some  call  nature  and  others  God. 
My  most  private  experiences,  those  most  intimate  to  me, 
are  thus,  in  some  sense,  overindividual  as  well  as  indi- 
vidual. If  I  try  to  think  of  myself  in  a  purely  numerical 
way  as  a  discrete  unit,  the  result  is  the  abstract  notion 
of  unity,  not  this  self  of  mine  experiencing  this  and  that. 
All  "my"  "this's"  and  "that's"  occur  as  parts  of  a 
wider  whole.  The  actual,  concrete  "my"  is  thus  con- 
junct, in  its  inmost  nature,  with  the  "more  than  mine." 
A  dividing  line,  on  one  side  of  which  is  the  "mine"  and  \ 
that  only,  and  on  the  other  side  of  which  is  all  else,  ' 
simply  does  not  exist. 

The  problem  of  what  constitutes  individuality  is 
further  complicated  by  the  fact  that  different  individuals 
know  one  another  as  "present."  When  I  am  challenged 
to  say  what  I  mean  by  your  presence,  my  first  impulse 
is  to  measure  the  inches  that  separate  us.  But  this 
throws  little  light  upon  what  it  is  for  you  to  be  present. 
At  most  it  names  a  condition  under  which  this  experi- 
ence arises,  the  experience  itself  being  some  sort  of 


198  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

conjunction  of  "my's."  Just  as  a  moment  ago  we  noted 
the  immediacy  of  nature  in  our  consciousness  of  the 
"my,"  so  here  we  come  upon  the  fact  of  social  immediacy. 
We  shall  have  to  deal  with  it  more  at  length  in  a  sub- 
sequent chapter.  But  at  this  point  we  must  note  at 
least  this: (that  the  "my"  is  falsely  construed  whenever 
it  is  thought  of  as  having  only  external  relations  to  the 
"thy."  Atomistic  notions  of  "I"  and  "thou,"  as  if 
each  were  inclosed  within  an  impenetrable  wall,  do  not 
describe  our  social  experience.  We  are  more  intimate  to 
one  another  by  far.  To  the  analysis  of  this  intimacy 
genetic  psychology  has  made  two  contributions.  It  has 
shown  that  the  "my"  does  not  arise  in  child  conscious- 
ness before  the  "thy,"  but  coincidently  with  it,  and  that 
the  "my"  construes  itself  throughout  by  reference  to 
"thy's."1  Comparison  of  mine  and  thine,  and  give  and 
take  between  me  and  thee,  are  included  in  the  stuff  of 
which  my  "me"  consists.  That  is,  social  communion 
is  the  very  experience  that  gives  the  "me"  any  meaning 
at  all.  Any  actual,  concrete  "my"  is  already  a  "my- 
thy."  Thus  the  individual  self  is  conjunct,  not  only  with 
nature,  but  also  with  society. 

Clearly,  then,  we  cannot  escape  the  "something 
more"  that  is  within  and  yet  not  merely  mine.  What 
we  must  do  with  it  is  to  seek  ever-closer  definition  of 
its,  or  their,  ways.  To  this  end  our  first  task  with 
respect  to  any  wonder-awakening  "something  more" 
is  to  establish,  as  far  as  we  can,  identity  of  process 
between  it  and  ordinary  psychic  events.  Only  thus 
shall  we  learn  whether  the  subconscious  has  any  laws 
peculiar  to  itself,  and,  if  so,  what  they  are.  If  we  should 
conclude  that  it  has  no  peculiar  laws,  the  effect  would 


RELIGION  AND  THE  SUBCONSCIOUS  199 

not  be  to  explain  away  any  phenomenon,  but  rather  to 
necessitate  a  more  than  usually  rigorous  analysis  of  our 
ordinary  life. 

Let  us  ask,  then,  first  of  all,  whether  the  sorts  of 
phenomena  that  were  catalogued  at  the  beginning  of 
this  chapter  are  limited  to  religious  subject-matter  or 
religious  motives.  The  answer  is  a  decided  negative. 
Visions  and  voices  that  seem  to  be  veracious,  and  are 
sometimes  proved  to  be  so,  occur  in  any  sphere  of  life.^( 
Convincing  impressions,  particularly  as  to  persons,  are 
common  and  useful  even  in  business.  So,  also,  involun- 
tary muscular  reactions  that  seem  to  express  knowledge 
may  concern  any  subject-matter.  We  need  not  resort 
to  mediums  for  instances.  Thus  a  young  woman,  upon 
being  asked  the  most  important  question  that  a  man 
can  put  to  a  woman,  started  to  give  the  favorable  reply 
that  she  supposed  was  dictated  by  both  heart  and 
judgment,  but  was  astonished  to  hear  herself  say  the 
exact  opposite  of  what,  as  she  relates  in  a  manuscript 
in  my  possession,  "I  thought  I  was  saying."  But  she 
records  that  "Once  spoken — astonished  as  I  was — the, 
words  stood,  and  I  held  to  them  as  the  days  and  weeks  \ 
went  by."  It  turned  out  that  on  the  road  that  she 
meant  to  travel,  but  was  thus  prevented  from  traveling, 
sorrow  lurked.  The  man  was  not  what  she  had  supposed. 
She  was  rescued,  in  fact,  by  this  unexpected  use  of  her 
vocal  apparatus.  She  herself  had  no  doubt  that  it  was 
somebody's  knowledge  that  uttered  itself  thus. 

That  the  inspiration  process  in  religion  is  in  no  sense 
separate  or  peculiar  will  be  clear  to  anyone  who  will 
examine  literary  and  other  artistic  inspirations  and  then 
note  the  parallel  ways  in  which  new  ideas  arise  in  the 


200  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

common  life.  \Thus  oratory  now  and  then  exhibits  the 
phenomenon  of  ideas  seeming  to  control  the  speaker  rather 
than  the  speaker  his  ideas.  Henry  Ward  Beecher  said: 

There  are  times  when  it  is  not  I  that  is  talking;  when  I  am 
caught  up  and  carried  away  so  that  I  know  not  whether  I  am  in 
the  body  or  out  of  the  body;  when  I  think  things  in  the  pulpit 
that  I  could  never  think  in  the  study;  and  when  I  have  feelings 
that  are  so  different  from  any  that  belong  to  the  lower  or  normal 
condition  that  I  can  neither  regulate  them  nor  understand  them. 
I  see  things  and  I  hear  sounds,  and  seem,  if  not  in  the  seventh 
heaven,  yet  in  a  condition  that  leads  me  to  apprehend  what  Paul 
said,  that  he  heard  things  that  it  was  not  possible  for  a  man 
to  utter.1 

Poetic  composition  is  another  fruitful  example. 
From  Bryant,  who  claimed  no  inspiration,  yet  admitted 
that  his  thoughts  sometimes  seemed  to  be  hardly  his 
own,2  to  Goethe,  who  believed  that  genuine  creative 
work  is  always  a  gift  from  above,  there  are  all  grades 
of  conviction  that  one's  ideas  are  given  rather  than 
achieved.  Here  are  Goethe's  own  words: 

All  productivity  of  the  highest  kind,  every  important  idea, 
every  great  thought  which  is  followed  by  fruit  and  has  conse- 
quences, is  in  no  one's  control,  and  is  elevated  above  all  earthly 
power.  Such  things  men  receive  as  unexpected  gifts  from  above. 
In  such  cases  man  is  often  to  be  regarded  as  a  tool  of  a  higher 
world-government,  as  a  vessel  found  worthy  to  receive  the  divine 
influence.3 

Emerson  says: 

It  is  a  secret  which  every  intellectual  man  quickly  learns, 
that  beyond  the  energy  of  his  possessed  and  conscious  intellect 

1  Beecher's  Patriotic  Addresses,  edited  by  J.  R.  Howard  (New  York, 
1887),  p.  140. 

2  Bigelow's  William  Cullen  Bryant,  p.  153. 

3  Otto  Harnack,  Goethe  in  der  Epoche  seiner  Vollendung,  3.  Aufl. 
(Leipzig,  1905),  p.  32;  cf.  pp.  143,  160. 


RELIGION  AND  THE  SUBCONSCIOUS  201 

he  is  capable  of  a  new  energy  (as  of  an  intellect  doubled  upon 
itself),  by  abandonment  to  the  nature  of  things."1 

The  frequency  with  which  poets  take  poetic  invention 
as  a  theme  for  a  poem  is  rather  remarkable  in  itself,  but 
still  more  significant  is  the  unanimity  with  which  they 
represent  the  poet's  mind  as  an  instrument  upon  which 
"something  more"  plays.  What  we  call  most  original  ,'\ 
with  them  they  regard  as  given  to  them. 

Yet,  as  Emerson  remarks,  all  are  poets  to  a  greater 
or  less  degree,  and,  as  Holmes  points  out,  every  asso- 
ciation of  ideas  is  a  case  of  something  wrought  in  us 
rather  than  by  us.2    The  subconscious,  whatever  it  is, 
as  surely  an  everyday  affair.     Thus,  there  "pops  into 
my  head"  the  solution  of  a  problem  that  has  puzzled  me. 
My  memory  testifies  that  the  last  time  I  thought  about 
the  question  I  had  no  answer  for  it.    But  now  the  com- 
plete answer  is  present,  with  all  its  parts  fitted  together, 
just  as  if  I  had  found  them  one  by  one  and  built  them 
into  a  designed  whole.    Or  to  take  an  instance  from  the   \ 
realm  of  volition:  whereas  yesterday  I  was  pulled  hither    ( 
and  thither  by  conflicting  desires  with  respect  to  a  cer-    ^ 
tain  matter,  this  morning,  after  a  night's  rest,  my  will  is 
at  peace  with  itself.    Some  of  the  things  that  I  craved    v 
I  no  longer  desire  at  all,  and  I  now  desire  some  things  to 
which  I  was  antagonistic  or  indifferent.    A  third  ordi-   l 
nary  sort  of  experience  is  the  adjustment  of  conduct  to 
conditions  the  existence  of  which  we  do  not  seem  to 

1  Essay  on  "The  Poet,"  in  Essays,  Second  Series  (Boston,  1898), 
p.  30. 

2  Among  the  best  popular  descriptions  of  literary  invention  are 
those  of  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  in  The  Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast  Table 
(Riverside  Press,  1891),  p.  191,  and  Pages  from  an  Old  Volume  of  Life 
(Riverside  Press,  1891),  pp.  283  ff. 


202  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

know.     Here  is  an  instance  that  was  recorded  by  the 
subject  at  the  time  of  its  occurrence : 

I  have  just  been  writing  several  New  Year's  greetings,  dating 
each  at  the  bottom,  "December  31,  1911."  Just  as  I  wrote  this 
date  on  one  of  them  I  had  a  feeling  that  I  had  not  written  it 
correctly  on  the  preceding  one,  and  that  I  had  probably  written 
"n"  instead  of  "31."  This  proved  to  be  the  case,  but  I  was 
not  sure  until  I  looked  to  see. 

Here  the  process  of  correcting  the  error  was  started 
without  apparent  knowledge  that  the  error  existed. 

It  is  therefore  impossible  to  give  a  psychological 
account  of  the  subconscious  in  religion  without  some 
attempt  to  weigh  the  general  theories  of  the  subconscious 
as  such.  The  nature  of  the  problem  will  be  somewhat 
^clarified,  possibly,  if  we  note  that  the  subconscious  is  not 
4>~a  fact  of  observation  but  wholly  an  inference.  That  the 
notion  arises  at  all  is  because  memory  and  introspection 
are  baffled.  One  of  the  clearest  examples  is  this:  The 
well-known  illusion  of  length  produced  by  converging 
lines  is  produced  also  when  invisible  shadows  are  sub- 
stituted for  certain  of  the  lines.  Here  we  infer  that 
something  like  perception  has  occurred,  although  the 
subject  can  give  no  account  of  it  whatever.1 

Three  types  of  theory  exist:  (i)  The  neural  theory, 
/  which  holds  that  all  deliverances  called  subconscious  are 
due  to  restimulation  of  brain  tracts  that  have  been 
organized  in  a  particular  way  through  previous  experi- 
ences of  the  individual.  According  to  this  view,  there  is 
no  subconscious  elaboration  or  ripening,  but  only  plain 
reproduction.  (2)  The  dissociation  theory,  which,  start- 

1  K.  Dunlap,  "The  Effect  of  Imperceptible  Shadows  on  the  Judg- 
ment of  Distance,"  Psychological  Review,  VII,  435. 


RELIGION  AND  THE  SUBCONSCIOUS  203 

ing  with  the  fact  that  the  field  of  attention  includes  a 
penumbra  as  well  as  a  focus,  holds  that  the  penumbral 
items  of  experience  can  be  combined  and  elaborated 
while  remaining  within  the  penumbra,  and  thus,  when 
the  focus  of  attention  shifts  to  them,  can  appear  as 
ready  made.  (3)*The  theory  of  a  detached  subconscious- 
ness.  This  phrase  was  devised,  I  believe,  by  a  persistent 
critic  of  the  theory,  the  late  Professor  Pierce.  It  covers 
all  views  that  assert  that  each  of  us  has  a  "double"  or 
secondary  self,  or  an  understratum  of  psychic  existence, 
possessed  of  powers  and  character  of  its  own  that  out- 
run and  are  separate  from  the  ordinary.  Here  belongs  the 
notion,  widespread  of  late,  that  God  is  present  to  us  as 
this  substratum  of  our  self  or  as  an  obscure  second  self. 
Whatever  may  be  said  of  the  third  theory,  the  first 
and  the  second  certainly  contain  at  least  a  part  of  the 
truth.  Let  us  begin  with  the  neural  theory.  It  insists 
that  inspirations,  however  new  they  seem  to  be,  are  in 
fact  reproductions  in  the  same  sense  in  which  the  mate- 
rials used  in  ordinary  thought-processes  are  reproduc- 
tions. Here,  even  if  we  reserve  our  judgment  as  to  what 
the  brain  finally  is,  we  find  a  true  analysis  of  such  facts 
as  these:  Many  a  man  supposes  that  his  words  are  new 
and  original  when  in  fact  he  is  quoting  or  paraphrasing 
what  he  has  heard  or  read.  Thus  it  is  that  words  from  a 
language  that  one  has  never  learned,  but  only  heard 
casually,  are  sometimes  spoken.  An  unlettered  old 
Scotch  woman  came  to  her  pastor  declaring  that  she 
had  a  message  from  the  Lord.  Thereupon  she  delivered 
in  English,  a  tongue  not  ordinarily  at  her  command,  a 
truly  eloquent  passage  about  the  Dissenters.  Her 
ordinary  self  was  not  capable  of  such  thinking  or  of 


204  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

such  diction.  Inquiry  proved  that  as  a  young  woman 
she  had  been  housemaid  to  an  eloquent  minister  of 
English  speech  who  had  a  way  of  rehearsing  his  sermons 
aloud  at  home,  and  whose  sentiments  concerning  the 
Dissenters  were  those  that  the  woman  supposed  that 
she  was  delivering  from  the  Lord.1  Even  if  we  should  be 
obliged  to  hold,  as  I  think  we  must,  that  newness  or 
originality  (whatever  this  is)  belongs  to  some  sub- 
conscious deliverances  in  the  same  sense  in  which  it 
belongs  to  ordinary  thinking,  the  main  mass,  at  least, 
of  the  ideas  that  are  attributed  to  the  subconscious 
arrive  at  the  focus  of  attention  by  the  ordinary  route. 
This  is  the  reason  why  none  but  those  who  study  and 
practice  poetry  get  poetic  inspirations  that  count.  Only 
a  musician  has  the  sort  of  inspiration  that  musicians 
recognize.  Mathematical  solutions  come  by  inspiration 
to  none  but  mathematicians.2  One  must  first  be  familiar* 
with  mechanical  devices  before  one  can  invent  new  ones. 
Just  so,  those  whom  religion  counts  as  prophets  arise 
within  religion,  and  they  employ  in  their  prophecies 
both  traditional  ideas  and  the  results  of  their  life- 
experience. 

But  the  dissociation  theory,  which  accepts  the  notion 
of  subconscious  elaboration  and  therefore  newness,  can- 
not be  dispensed  with.  Something  of  the  nature  of 
fresh  perception,  and  organization  of  the  fresh  percept 
into  an  idea-system,  may  take  place  so  far  from  the  focus 
of  attention  that,  when  the  focus  shifts  toward  it,  the 

1  This  case  was  communicated  to  me  by  my  colleague,  Professor 
G.  A.  Johnston  Ross,  to  whom  the  old  woman  brought  the  message. 

2  Sir  William  Rowan  Hamilton's  account  of  his  discovery  of  the 
method  of  the  quaternions  will  be  found  in  the  North  British  Review, 
XLV,  57- 


RELIGION  AND  THE  SUBCONSCIOUS  205 

product  seems  to  be  wholly  new  and  at  that  moment 
injected  into  consciousness.  V  A  homely  example  of 
penumbral  perception  is  as  follows:  I  " awake  to  the 
fact"  that  my  telephone  bell,  which  is  in  another  room, 
has  been  ringing  for  some  time,  though  I  cannot  tell 
when  it  began  to  ring.  Similarly,  I  may  "  awake  to  the 
fact"  that  I  have  a  formed  opinion  on  a  certain  matter, 
or  a  formed  attitude  toward  a  certain  person.  Most  of 
our  opinions  and  prejudices  are,  in  fact,  built  up  casually, 
that  is,  in  a  region  of  dim  attention.  Hence  it  is  that  we 
are  so  much  more  certain  that  our  views  are  true  than 
why  they  are  true.  One  may  be  a  shrewd  judge  of 
men,  and  yet  flounder  when  reasons  for  a  judgment  are 
demanded. 

Our  own  thoughts  may  thus  come  to  us  as  not  ours. 
They  simply  "pop  into  our  heads,"  surprising  us  by 
their  appropriateness ;  or  they  may  appear  as  an  insistent 
emotional  restraint  upon  what  we  regard  as  our  opinions 
or  our  attitudes;  or  they  may  appear  as  inner  speech,  or, 
finally,  as  fully  sensory  presences — visions  or  voices,  for 
which  the  psychological  term  is  "hallucination."1  Thus 
it  is  that  a  "sense  of  duty"  restrains;  that  a  "sense  of 
divine  condemnation"  oppresses;  that  "assurance"  or 
"witness  of  the  Spirit,"  and  certainty  that  one  is  being 
divinely  guided,  arise.  Back  of  the  individual  realiza- 
tion there  are  elements  of  religious  tradition  which  the 

1  That  is,  sensation  through  stimulus  of  a  brain  center  from  within 
the  brain  itself  instead  of  through  a  nerve  current  initiated  at  a  peripheral 
sense  organ.  Central  stimulation  may  be  accomplished  by  narrowing 
attention  upon  a  mental  image.  Hence,  in  dreams,  in  hypnosis,  in 
emotionally  tense  situations,  or  in  any  situation  in  which  attention  is 
narrowed  and  inhibiting  ideas  are  absent,  the  mild  stimulation  involved 
in  having  a  mental  image  may  be  raised  to  the  intensity  involved  in 
sense-perception. 


206  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

individual  acquires  in  the  usual  way  and  then  gives  back 
to  himself  as  not  his  own.  It  is  not  improbable  that  the 
young  lady  whose  lips  rejected  a  suitor  whom  she  in- 
tended to  accept  had  already  accumulated  a  body  of 
congruous  but  not  clearly  denned  impressions  unfavor- 
able to  him,  so  that  an  opinion-forming  process  had 
been  going  on  in  the  ordinary  manner.  If  need  for 
immediate  action  had  not  arisen,  the  opinion  might  have 
matured  without  a  hint  of  mystery  or  surprise.  Here 
is  an  important  clue  to  the  wisdom  of  oracles  and  sooth- 
sayers.1 Not  less  is  it  a  clue  to  the  wisdom  of  the  great 
prophets,  and  to  the  surprise  that  they  felt  when  the 
burden  of  prophesying  fell  upon  them.  *The  prophet's 
message  reflects  the  prophet's  interests;  it  employs  the 
materials  that  religious  tradition  and  his  own  past  offer; 
it  is  worked  up  as  other  convictions  are  worked  up, 
though  the  steps  may  be  obscure  to  the  prophet  himself, 
so  that  he  disclaims  authorship  altogether. 
It  is  true,  as  Browning  says,  that — 

There  are  flashes  struck  from  midnights,  there  are 

fire-flames  noondays  kindle, 
Whereby  piled-up  honors  perish,  whereby  swollen 

ambitions  dwindle; 
While  just  this  or  that  poor  impulse,  which  for  once 

had  play  unstifled, 
Seems  the  sole  work  of  a  lifetime  that  away  the  rest 

had  trifled. 

— Christina. 

1  Cotton  Mather,  having  interrogated  certain  fortune-tellers  as  to 
how  they  got  the  ideas  that  they  gave  forth,  received  the  answer  that 
"When  they  told  Fortunes,  they  would  pretend  the  Rules  of  Chiromancy 
and  the  like  Ignorant  Sciences,  but  indeed  they  had  no  Rule  (they  said) 
but  this,  The  things  were  then  Darted  into  their  minds.  Darted!  Ye 
Wretches;  By  whom,  I  pray?  Surely  by  none  but  the  Devils." — 


RELIGION  AND  THE  SUBCONSCIOUS  207 

It  is  true,  likewise,  that  now  and  then  what  seemed  to 
be  a  fair  structure  of  moral  purpose  suddenly  tumbles 
into  ruin.  Yet  these  moral  self -revelations  or  reversals 
are  rarely  if  ever  a  mere  explosion  of  a  previously  inactive 
impulse,  but  rather  a  coming  into  the  foreground  of  what 
had  been  growing  in  the  background  by  repeated  but 
forgotten  reactions.  Thus  it  is  that  converts  now  and 
again  find  themselves  on  the  side  of  religion  without 
knowing  how  they  got  there. 

The  third  theory,  that  of  a  detached  subconscious- 
ness,  appeals  to  the  popular  mind  more  than  it  does  to 
psychology.  It  has  got  its  vogue  largely  by  heaping  up 
supposed  marvels  instead  of  patiently  taking  them  to 
pieces.  The  medical  mind,  too,  with  its  traditional 
"  disease  entities,"  and  with  imperative  motive  for  im- 
mediate action,  sometimes  finds  it  convenient  to  hypos- 
tasize  mental  abnormalities.1  To  persons  who  are 
emotionally  inclined  toward  occultism,  the  notion  of  a 
detached  subconsciousness  is  more  comforting  than  any 
doctrine  of  mental  continuity  can  be.  Likewise,  religious 
thinkers  who  reluctantly  yield  the  physical  world  to 
natural  law  find  it  possible  to  make  a  last  stand  for 
supernaturalism  by  referring  to  supposed  divine  com- 
munications delivered  in  the  mysterious  twilight  of  the 

Cotton  Mather,  The  Wonders  of  the  Invisible  World  (reprint,  London, 
1862),  p.  20.  The  process  here  is  similar  to  that  of  all  thought.  One 
fixes  attention  upon  a  topic,  and  ideas  simply  come.  The  marvel,  if 
there  is  ground  for  it  at  all,  rests,  not  in  the  process,  but  in  the  useable- 
ness  of  the  product. 

*And  then  dogmatize  about  them!  It  is  noteworthy,  however, 
that  Morton  Prince,  when  he  finally  faces  this  problem,  declares  that 
there  is  entire  continuity  between  the  conscious,  the  "co-conscious," 
and  the  "unconscious."  See  The  Unconscious  (New  York,  1914). 


208  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

subconscious.  Indeed,  the  doctrine  of  a  detached  sub- 
consciousness  reproduces  in  refined  form  the  ancient 
religious  notion  of  possession.1 

It  behooves  us  to  be  humble  as  well  as  incredulous  in 
the  presence  of  such  widespread,  persistent  impressions. 
Time  and  again  they  have  been  found  to  have  "  some- 
thing in  them/'  after  rational  criticism  had  declared 
them  to  be  delusions  or  frauds.  The  range  of  perception 
is  certainly  far  wider  than  the  psychology  of  fifty  years 
ago  was  ready  to  admit.  There  is  something  in  witch- 
craft, in  clairvoyance,  in  mediumship,  that  is  worthy  of 
careful  scientific  analysis.  ^To  declare  unthinkable  the 
possession  of  one  individual  consciousness  by  another,  or 
the  use  of  one  person's  muscles  by  another  person,  would 
certainly  be  rash.  The  mental  life  is  a  complicated 
intermeshing  that  has  the  prima  facie  look  of  a  tangle. 
Just  which  thread  is  which  and  just  what  constitutes  a 
thread  are  problems.  If  psychology  could  wholly  ignore 

1  That  any  Christian  theologian  should  regard  it  as  a  gain  for 
religion  when  men  look  for  God  in  the  dim,  outlying  regions  of  con- 
sciousness rather  than  at  the  focal  points  called  "I"  and  "thou,"  is 
rather  surprising.  If  there  is  one  thing  that  distinguishes  Christian 
thought  from  all  other  theologies,  it  is  the  extraordinary  value  that 
has  been  ascribed  to  the  individual  ever  since  Jesus  declared  that  one 
person  outweighs  the  whole  non-personal  world.  Yet  not  a  few  Chris- 
tian writers  of  our  day  find  the  focus  of  religious  experience  in  the  self's 
continuity  with  nature  rather  than  in  the  self's  interaction  with  society. 
Certain  details  of  this  theological  situation  I  have  discussed  in  "Religion 
and  the  Subconscious,"  American  Journal  of  Theology,  XIII  (1909), 
337-49.  To  the  theological  publications  there  referred  to  should  be 
added  the  subsequently  published  works  of  Professor  W.  Sanday,  in 
which  he  suggests  that  God  was  in  Christ  as  his  subconsciousness.  These 
works  are:  Christologies,  Ancient  and  Modern  (Oxford  University  Press, 
1910),  and  Personality  in  Christ  and  in  Ourselves  (Oxford  University 
Press,  1911). 


RELIGION  AND  THE  SUBCONSCIOUS  209 

psychic  individuality;  if  what  we  have  to  deal  with  were 
separate  states  which  combine  merely  in  the  sense  of 
touching  one  another  at  their  surfaces,  as  marbles  in  a 
bag,  or  bricks  in  a  wall,  then  there  would  be  no  problem 
of  the  subconscious.  <  But  since  our  mental  life  is  given 
largely  as  intercourse  between  individuals,  we  have  to 
face  questions  that  concern  the  nature  of  such  inter- 
course, including  the  question  as  to  how  we  identify 
another  individual  as  present. 

Two  considerations  that  are  urged  in  favor  of  the 
doctrine  of  a  detached  subconsciousness  deserve  atten- 
tion. First,  the  " something  more'*  sometimes  exhibits 
high  organization.  Connected  discourse  flows  from  the  * 
pen  of  some  automatic  writers  who  afterward  declare 
that  they  have  no  memory  of  having  written  anything. 
In  cases  designated  as  alternating  personality  the  phys- 
ical organism,  through  speech  and  conduct,  expresses 
now  one  coherent  set  of  ideas  and  attitudes,  now  another, 
the  two  being  as  different  as  those  of  two  ordinary  mem- 
bers of  society.  Secondly,  the  "  some  thing  more"  is 
believed  to  be  an  effective  source  of  knowledge,  of  wis-  • 
dom,  of  artistic  excellence,  of  moral  reinforcement. 

The  second  consideration  is  palpably  based  upon 
picked  facts.  The  shallow  repetition,  the  misinformation 
and  misguidance,  the  ignorance  and  stupidity  that  pro- 
ceed from  the  same  source,  must  be  weighed  against  the 
relatively  few  happy  hits.  This  statement  is  true  of 
religious  inspirations  as  it  is  of  spiritism  and  occultism 
generally.  It  is  never  difficult  to  secure  the  authority  of 
inspiration  for  anything  that  is  believed,  desired,  or 
feared,  and  any  sort  of  stupidity  can  be  thus  sanctified. 
Mohammed's  ability  to  secure  inspirations  that  assisted 


210  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

his  desires  is  well  known.1  All  in  all,  the  farther  back 
we  go  toward  periods  confessedly  of  ignorance  and  delu- 
sion the  more  clear-cut  is  the  impression  of  the  divinity 
as  revealing  himself  by  the  detached  route.  In  short, 
the  products  of  the  religious  subconscious  have  multi- 
1  tudinous  marks  of  the  primary  personalities  with  which 
they  have  been  associated.  What  we  are  obviously 
dealing  with  here  is  the  whole  human  welter  of  things 
wise  and  things  foolish,  things  known  and  things  guessed 
or  hoped  for,  things  good,  bad,  and  indifferent.  It  is 
probably  our  very  selves  that  we  give  back  to  ourselves 
when  we  think  we  are  possessed. 

-^The  facts  of  multiple  personality  do  strongly  suggest 
a  detached  subconsciousness.  Yet  even  here  there  is 
no  such  complete  break  as  is  popularly  supposed.  The 
secondary  personality  depends  upon  and  uses  the  mental' 
acquisitions  of  the  primary — uses  its  language,  has  its 
understanding  of  common  sights  and  sounds,  has  its 

memories  as  its  own.    Hence,  even  if  the  primary  per- 

s 

1  Guillaume  Monod  (b.  1800,  d.  1896),  announcing  himself  as 
Christ,  the  redeemer  of  the  world,  gathered  about  himself  a  sect  that 
looked  upon  him  as  a  revealer.  When  some  of  his  predictions  failed  of 
literal  fulfilment,  he  saved  his  claim  by  pointing  out  that  biblical  pre- 
dictions failed  in  the  same  sense.  Similarly,  he  found  biblical  parallels 
for  his  lack  of  omniscience,  for  the  fact  of  his  human  ancestry,  his 
mortality,  and  even  for  a  period  of  insanity.  See  G.  Revault  d'Allonnes, 
Psychologic  d'une  Religion  (Paris,  1908).  Among  the  writings  produced 
in  the  interest  of  what  I  venture  to  call  "psychic"  theology  is  a  book  by 
H.  C.  Stanton  that  bears  the  following  suggestive  title:  Telepathy  of  the 
Celestial  World.  ("Psychic  Phenomena  here  but  Foreshado wings  of  our 
transcendent  Faculties  hereafter.  Evidences  from  Psychology  and 
Scripture  that  the  Celestials  can  instantaneously  and  freely  communicate 
across  distance  indefinitely  great")  (New  York,  1913).  Chap,  iii  argues 
that  the  method  of  communication  among  the  three  persons  of  the  god- 
head is  telepathy. 


RELIGION  AND  THE  SUBCONSCIOUS  211 

sonality  were  totally  unable  to  recall  experiences  of  the 
secondary,  nevertheless  the  usual  sort  of  psychic  indi- 
viduality is  here  in  large  measure.  But  inability  to 
recall  the  secondary  has  been  exaggerated.  There  are 
apparently  all  degrees  of  memory  lapse,  not  just  one 
characteristic  and  complete  sort.  The  popular  notion 
that  hypnotized  subjects  upon  being  wakened  have  no 
memory  of  what  has  occurred  during  hypnosis  is  errone- 
ous. Sometimes  there  is  full  recall,  sometimes  partial 
recall,  sometimes  apparently  complete  amnesia.  Even 
a  subject  who  declares  that  he  cannot  recall  anything  is 
sometimes,  at  least,  mistaken.1  The  sundering,  in  short, 
is  best  interpreted  as  a  phenomenon  of  attention  and 
memory.  ^It  is  a  dissociated  individual  consciousness 
with  which  we  are  dealing,  not  two  individual  conscious- 
nesses related  by  a  subconscious  bond. 

There  is  no  manner  of  doubt  that  painstaking  analy- 
sis of  particular  cases  of  the  subconscious  in  religion  has 
tended  with  great  regularity  to  transfer  more  and  more 
of  the  mysterious  " other"  to  the  account  of  the  "mine" 
or  of  the  ordinary  "not  mine."3  The  particular  content 
of  the  inspiration  and  often  the  very  form  of  the  seizure 

'To  such  a  subject  I  said,  "Try  hard  to  remember!  Try!"  To 
which  he  replied,  "I  heard  something."  "What  did  you  hear?  Try 
to  remember!"  I  said.  "I  heard  music,"  he  answered.  Further  ques- 
tions that  gave  no  suggestions  but  only  helped  to  hold  attention  to  the 
problem  elicited  a  complete  account  of  the  hypnotic  hallucination. 
Here,  then,  was  a  subject  whose  first,  positive  declaration  seemed  to 
indicate  an  utter  break,  whereas  the  ordinary  bridge  between  one's 
present  and  one's  own  past  was  there.  There  was  the  full  appearance, 
but  not  the  reality,  of  a  detached  consciousness. 

3  Occasionally  something  like  a  crucial  experiment  is  made,  as  when 
certain  tongue-speakers,  believing  that  their  gift  prepared  them  to 
preach  the  Gospel  in  non-Christian  lands  without  preliminary  study 


212  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

are  parts  of  some  tradition,  or  group  movement,  or 
individual  history,  that  are  reproduced  and  worked  up 
by  the  individual  himself  in  precisely  the  same  sense  in 
which  he  reproduces  and  works  up  the  things  that  he 
more  readily  recognizes  as  his  own. 

The  significance  of  this  conclusion  for  our  general 
conception  of  religious  consciousness  is  as  follows: 
Individual  self-consciousness,  as  we  have  noted,  includes 
within  itself,  even  as  such,  a  reference  on  the  one  hand 
to  nature,  on  the  other  hand  to  society.  Out  of  the 
relative  vagueness  of  infancy  the  self  grows  by  defining 
itself  more  sharply  in  both  directions.xln  the  terms  of 
natural  law  I  recognize  a  connection,  even  continuity, 
between  my  very  self  and  my  muscles,  my  brain,  my 
food,  the  weather,  external  nature  as  a  wholeN  On  the 
other  hand,  in  terms  of  ethical  regard  I  recognize  con-  ^ 
nection,  even  continuity,  between  my  very  self  andf 
other  selves.  Now,  the  general  tendency  of  religion  has 
been  to  interpret  what  we  have  come  to  call  " nature" 
in  terms  of  other  selves,  or,  as  the  case  may  be,  another 
self.  Yet  the  evidence,  namely,  cases  of  supposed  "pos- 
session" and  the  like,  has  been  undermined  by  the 
increasing  definition  of  our  nature-ward  connections. 
The  progress  of  the  natural  sciences  has  involved  a 
progressive  dislodgment  of  anthropomorphisms  of  the 
"possession"  type,  until  at  last  the  science  of  psychology 
threatens,  to  say  the  least,  to  give  the  coup  de  grace  to 
the  whole  idea  of  "possession." 

of  the  native  languages,  actually  undertook  such  a  preaching  mission. 
They  had  a  rude  disillusionment.  See  F.  G.  Henke  "The  Gift  of 
Tongues  and  Related  Phenomena  at  the  Present  Day,"  American 
Journal  of  Theology,  XIII  (1909),  205  f. 


RELIGION  AND  THE  SUBCONSCIOUS  213 

Yet  man  is  fundamentally  social,  and  religion  is, 
all  in  all,  his  most  considerable  attempt  to  express  this 
side  of  his  nature.  There  is  a  certain  social  insistence 
even  in  the  idea  of  " possession"  and  in  anthropo- 
morphism as  a  whole.  At  some  points,  however,  social 
insistence  focalizes  at  the  opposite  pole,  namely,  where 

•  selves   are   most   clearly  individual   and  most  clearly 

•  related  to  one  another — where  human  wills  clash,  and 
problems  of  righteousness  and  mercy  arise.  The  most 
potent  single  influence  in  this  direction,  the  life  and 
teachings  of  Jesus,  sprang  directly  out  of  religion  under 
the  pressure  of  adversity.  It  was  the  manward  bond, 
not  the  nature  ward  bond,  that  controlled  his  thinking. 
This  ethical  tendency  has  been  reinforced  in  our  Western 
world  by  the  pressure  of  the  sciences  against  other 
things  upon  which  religion  had  relied.  Christians  find 
themselves  more  and  more  obliged  to  fall  back  upon 
their  ancient  doctrine  that  "He  that  abideth  in  love 
abide th  in  God,  and  God  abideth  in  him."  That  is, 
religious  experience  tends  to  focalize  itself  where  indi- 

;  viduality  is  most  pronounced,  not  at  its  obscure  outer 
edges;  where  self-control  is  at  its  maximum,  not  its 
minimum;  where  the  issues  are  those  of  society  as  a 
deliberative  (or  potentially  deliberative)  body. 

True,  our  very  selves  are  enmeshed  in  the  mechanism 

v  of  nature  as  well  as  in  other  selves.  The  growth  of 
culture  makes  men  more  and  more  acutely  conscious  of 
this  bi-polarity,  more  certain  of  a  deep  contrast  between 
the  ethical  regard  for  persons  by  which  we  define  our- 
selves as  members  of  society  and  the  impersonal  dia- 
grams by  means  of  which  the  sciences  describe  the  order 
of  nature — an  order  that  is  within  each  of  us  as  well  as 


214  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

round  about  us.  The  more  poignantly  we  realize  this 
cleft  within  our  very  selfhood  the  more  does  it  appear 
that  the  problem  of  social  living  does  of  itself  lead  on 
to  the  question  of  a  possible  unity  or  reconciliation 
between  the  natural  and  the  social.  To  this  problem 
our  discussion  of  the  subconscious  contributes  a  single 
item,  to  wit:  There  is  no  probability  that  the  cleft  can 
be  filled  up  or  bridged  over  by  the  hypothesis  of  beings 
or  processes  intermediate  between  individual  selves  and 
nature,  or  by  psychic  processes  of  a  subsocial  sort. 


CHAPTER  XIII 
THE  RELIGIOUS  REVALUATION  OF  VALUES 

That  the  notion  of  evolution  applies  to  all  human 
experience,  religious  experience  included,  has  been  as- 
sumed in  the  preceding  chapters  as  a  matter  of  course. 
Some  particular  applications  of  this  assumption  must 
now  be  examined.  Since  any  general  law  is  a  description 
of  observed  facts,  we  are  not  to  assume  that  laws  of 
evolution  based  exclusively  upon  experience  other  than 
the  religious  must  be  adequate  to  express  also  the  facts 
of  the  evolution  of  religion.  Rather,  we  must  first 
observe  the  facts,  and  then  ask  in  what  sense  or  manner 
an  evolution  here  occurs. 

The  distinction  between  mental  structure  and  mental 
function  leads,  in  fact,  to  a  peculiar  and  neglected  prob- 
lem concerning  the  evolution  of  the  human  mind.  If  we 
were  to  think  of  this  evolution  in  an  exclusively  struc- 
tural, sense,  we  might  figure  the  totality  of  mental 
process  as  the  movement  of  a  set  of  blocks  with  which  a 
child  is  playing.  At  first  the  blocks  are  merely  shuffled 
about;  then  simple  structures  appear,  such  as  one  block 
placed  upon  another;  afterward  there  are  more  com- 
plicated structures,  in  which  one  part  corresponds  to  or 
depends  upon  another,  as  towers,  houses,  and  bridges. 
From  a  purely  structural  standpoint  these  results,  one 
and  all,  consist  in  growingly  complex  rearrangements  of 
blocks,  each  of  which  has  a  predetermined  size  and  shape. 
Now,  it  is  true  that  in  the  most  elaborate  human  mind 

215 


2i6  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

we  can  discern  the  very  elements  that  appear  in  primitive 
human  reactions  and  in  our  animal  ancestors,  such  as 
sensations  of  the  various  kinds,  and  instinctive  tenden- 
cies to  action,  with  their  correlative  satisfactions  and 
dissatisfactions. 

This  point  of  view  gives  rise  to  the  doctrine  that, 
just  as  the  child's  blocks  are  unchangeable,  so  human 
nature  is  everywhere  and  always  the  same.  Note, 
lowever,  that  this  doctrine,  in  its  most  common  appli- 
cation, concerns  human  motives.  Underneath  our  most 
civilized  and  ideal  undertakings,  it  is  said,  are  the  old, 
fundamental  desires  that  we  share  with  the  savage  and 
with  the  brute.  But  this  statement  involves  a  shift 
from  structure  to  function,  or  else  confusion  between 
the  two  standpoints.  Most  often  it  is  confusion  that 
we  meet  in  declarations  of  the  unchangeability  of  human 
nature.  For  the  assertion  that  developed  mind  likes 
and  dislikes  the  very  same  objects  that  primitive  mind 
likes  and  dislikes  would  be  prima  facie  false — we  are  too 
obviously  endeavoring  to  make  ourselves  unlike  savages 
in  matters  of  taste! 

How,  then,  is  it  that  we  who  pride  ourselves  on  our 
unlikeness  to  the  savage  nevertheless  assert  that  our 
nature  is  identical  with  his  ?  The  most  common  way  is 
this  :\  We  invent  the  notion  of  generalized  desires,  saying 
that  in  spite  of  specific  differences  there  is  generic  iden- 
tity, and  then  we  identify  these  generalia  with  the 
specific  instinctive  desires  that  first  appear  in  evolution. 
Thus  it  is  that  the  fundamental  and  all-inclusive  motives 
are  said  to  be  those  of  nutrition  and  sex.  Here  we  first 
look  for  the  truly  real,  just  as  many  mediaeval  philoso- 
phers did,  in  the  general  or  class  notion;  but  we  then 


RELIGIOUS  REVALUATION  OF  VALUES         217 

proceed  to  identify  this  "truly  real"  with  a  particular 
instance  of  it.  We  pick  out  these  two  instincts  for  this 
honor  because  we  are  under  the  influence  of  a  popular 
evolutionism  that  naively  regards  the  early  members  of 
an  evolutionary  series  as  somehow  more  significant  than 
the  later  members. 

i  We  fall  into  this  logical  quagmire  partly  because  we 
do  not  clearly  distinguish  between  the  evolution  of 
structure  and  the  evolution  of  function.  We  may  prop- 
erly speak  of  an  evolution  of  mental  functions  because 
preferences  actually  change.  Human  development  does 
not  consist  merely  in  finding  new  varieties  of  food  with 
which  to  satisfy  primordial  appetites,  but  also  in  achiev- 
ing new  wants,  genuinely  new  wants.  The  possibility  of 
classifying  a  new  want  under  some  general  notion  that 
includes  old  wants  does  not  in  the  least  imply  that  the 
new  is  not  really  different  from  the  old.  Such  classifica- 
tions, however,  do  suggest  the  possibility  of  finding  laws 
of  functional  change.1 

1  Freud's  psycho-analysis,  when  it  undertakes  to  dissect  the  mental 
life  of  ordinarily  healthy  individuals,  appears  to  assume  that  the  real 
motive  is  always  the  crudest  that  the  situation  permits  us  to  suspect,  the 
one  most  nearly  corresponding  to  savage  or  animal  or  pre-moral  conduct. 
As  Morton  Prince  has  pointed  out  (The  Unconscious,  pp.  214  ff.),  where 
any  one  of  several  possible  motives  may  be  present,  Freud  picks  out 
one  on  the  basis  of  theory  alone  and  declares  it  to  be  the  actual  one. 
This  opens  the  way  to  amazingly  arbitrary  interpretations  of  conduct. 
Why  did  I  forget  my  umbrella  when  I  left  my  physician's  office  ?  Be- 
cause I  had  a  secret  wish,  all  unknown  to  myself,  to  remain  and  to  return 
soon  (Psycho pathology  of  Everyday  Life  [New  York,  1914],  p.  239,  note). 
Why  did  I  hand  the  beggar  a  gold  piece  when  I  intended  to  give  him 
only  a  copper  coin  ?  This  was  not  mere  carelessness  or  preoccupation; 
no,  unknown  to  myself  I  wished  to  perform  an  act  of  sacrifice  to  mollify 
fate  or  avert  evil  (ibid.,  p.  192)!  Upon  such  interpretations  there  is  no 
check  whatever,  once  the  point  of  view  and  the  method  are  accepted; 


2i8  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

The  proposition  that  human  nature  changes,  or  that 
desires  and  motives  become  in  the  strictest  sense  different 
from  those  of  our  ancestors — the  proposition,  in  short, 
that  human  functions  evolve — meets  another  obstacle 
in  a  habit  that  grew  up  when  the  doctrine  of  evolution 
had  to  win  its  way  by  debate.  A  moment's  reflection 
upon  the  notion  of  evolution  will  show  that  it  implies 
change  as  well  as  continuity,  and  that  change  is  not 
accessory  to  continuity  but  as  fundamental,  as  real,  as 
continuity  itself.  Yet  change  has  received  far  less 
attention.  The  opponents  of  Darwinism,  though  they 
did  not  accept  the  idea  of  universal  movement  in  nature, 
were  entirely  certain  of  immense  differences,  which  were 
construed  as  breaks.  In  the  early  days  the  argument 
for  evolution  had  as  a  chief  task  to  prove  that  these 
apparent  breaks  are  not  breaks  after  all.  The  great 
point  to  be  established  was  continuity  of  life.  When 
Darwin  undertook  in  The  Descent  of  Man  to  show  that 
the  human  mind  is  derived,  along  with  the  body,  from 
animal  ancestors,  he  addressed  himself  to  likenesses  be- 
tween the  human  and  the  subhuman  mind.  To  fill  in  the 
apparent  gaps  and  thus  demonstrate  continuity  became 
the  distinguishing  enterprise  of  evolutionary  psychology. 
Theological  prejudice,  pride  of  species,  and  actual  de- 
fects of  data  all  had  to  be  overcome.  Thus  it  is  that 
"mental  evolution"  came  to  be  habitually  thought  of 
as  " mental  continuity,"  whereas  difference  and  change, 

there  is  nothing  here  to  distinguish  psychology  from  psychological 
mythology.  Many  Freudian  analyses  may  be,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
correct;  help  may  be  brought  to  disordered  minds  by  means  of  analyses 
both  correct  and  incorrect.  The  point  is  that  the  system  cannot  dis- 
criminate, by  means  of  its  own  principles,  between  actual  motives  and 
fancied  ones. 


RELIGIOUS  REVALUATION  OF  VALUES         219 

which  are  just  as  fundamental,  have  remained  in  a  sort 
of  hazy  background.  We  know  far  better  what  we  have 
in  common  with  brutes  and  savages  than  what  it  is  that 
separates  us  from  them. 

The  most  obvious  continuities  in  mental  evolution 
are  those  of  structure.  By  taking  to  pieces  even  as 
exalted  a  mental  product  as  a  poem  or  a  mathematical  yf 
discovery  we  can  prove  that  it  contains  primitive  ele- 
ments. What  more  natural,  then,  than  to  think  of 
minds  as  differing  simply  in  degrees  of  complication 
among  elements  that,  like  a  child's  blocks,  are  unchange- 
able ?  But,  even  apart  from  difficulties  inherent  in  the 
notion  of  mental  "elements,"  there  are  reasons  why  an 
exclusively  structural  view  of  mental  evolution  cannot 
be  sufficient.  For  changes  have  to  be  thought  of  in 
some  sort  of  dynamic  terms.  Mental  changes  imply, 
prima  facie,  some  doctrine  of  mental  dynamics.  This 
prima  facie  necessity  is  reinforced  by  considerations  that 
concern  the  influence  of  mind  in  the  struggle  for  existence 
and  for  better  existence.  If  mind  is  a  favorable  variation 
in  the  total  vital  process  it  is  because  mind,  as  such,  does 
something  and  is  going  somewhere — it  has  specific  func- 
tions of  its  own.  What  happens  depends  in  some  measure 
upon  what  is  desired. 

As  the  clearest  continuities  in  mental  evolution  are  " 
those  of  structure,  so  the  clearest  changes  are  those  of 
function.  On  the  functional  side,  too,  there  is  continuity; 
our  desires  have  much  in  common  with  earlier  orders  of 
life.  Yet  desires  change;  there  is  an  evolution  of  func- 
tions. If  this  is  denied  by  the  doctrine  that  human 
nature  is  always  the  same,  the  denial  rests  upon  con- 
fusion of  problems  or  upon  inadequacy  of  data.  The 


220  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

man  who  utters  this  doctrine  would  regard  it  as  a  horrible 
fate  if  his  own  capacity  for  desiring  and  enjoying  were 
to  be  limited  for  the  rest  of  his  life  to  that  of  a  savage. 

A  scientific  challenge  of  the  popular  doctrine  of  the 
fixity  of  human  nature  has  come  from  at  least  three 
writers.  In  an  article  already  referred  to  Love  joy  shows 
that,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  self-consciousness  brings  new 
desires.  Henry  Rutgers  Marshall,  examining  the  as- 
sumption that,  since  war  is  an  expression  of  human 
nature,  we  must  expect  the  indefinite  recurrence  of 
tragedies  like  that  which  now  shakes  the  world,  argues 
that  desires  have  already  changed  in  humanitarian  direc- 
tions to  such  a  degree  that  the  doctrine  of  the  unchange- 
ability  of  human  nature  is  simply  contrary  to  fact.1 
Thorndike's  minute  analysis  of  the  original  tendencies 
of  human  nature  reveals  not  only  this  and  that  readiness 
to  respond  to  a  particular  stimulus,  but  also  tendencies 
to  deal  with  the  response  itself.2  In  this  dealing  with 
his  own  responses  man  reconstructs  his  wants  and 
acquires  a  new  nature.  Thorndike's  statement  of  this 
point  is  as  follows: 

The  original  tendencies  of  man  have  not  been  right,  are  not 
right,  and  probably  never  will  be  right.  By  them  alone  few  of 
the  best  wants  in  human  life  would  have  been  felt,  and  fewer 

still  satisfied Original  nature  has  achieved  what  goodness 

the  world  knows  as  a  state  achieves  order — by  killing,  confining, 
or  reforming  some  of  its  elements.  It  progresses,  not  by  laissez- 
faire,  but  by  changing  the  environment  in  which  it  operates  and 
by  renewedly  changing  itself  in  each  generation.  Man  is  now 
as  civilized,  rational,  and  human  as  he  is  because  man  in  the  past 
has  changed  things  into  shapes  more  satisfying,  and  changed 

1  War  and  the  Ideal  of  Peace  (New  York,  1915). 

2  Original  Nature  of  Man  (New  York,  1913),  p.  170. 


RELIGIOUS  REVALUATION  OF  VALUES         221 

parts  of  his  own  nature  into  traits  more  satisfying,  to  man  as  a 
whole.  Man  is  thus  eternally  altering  himself  to  suit  himself. 
His  nature  is  not  right  in  his  own  eyes.  Only  one  thing  in  it, 
indeed,  is  unreservedly  good,  the  power  to  make  it  better.1 

Mental  functions  evolve,  then,  and  the  tendency  to 
functional  as  well  as  structural  evolution  is  a  part  of 
man's  original  nature.  This  phase  of  evolution  is,  on  the 
one  hand,  mind's  increasing  discovery  of  what  it  wants 
to  do,  and  therefore  of  what  mind  really  is.  On  the  other 
hand,  this  discovery  goes  forward  through  conflict  with 
what  we^  are.  Purposes,  as  contrasted  with  impulses, 
and  the  increasing  organization  of  life  through  ideas, 
are  achievements.  They  require  the  redirection  of  old 
desires,  and  redirection  involves  resistance.  You  can- 
not make  a  river  grind  wheat  until  you  check  the  cur- 
rent in  some  measure.  Human  nature,  then,  is  not 
merely  a  current  that  flows  by  reason  of  the  law  of 
gravity;  it  has  also  the  peculiar  property  of  resisting 
and  redirecting  its  own  flow.  If,  now,  we  could  deter- 
mine what  is  resisted,  and  what  is  the  direction  of  these 
redirections,  we  should  thereby  formulate  laws  of  func- 
tional evolution.  In  the  nature  of  the  case  such  laws 
could  not  be  deduced  by  analysis  of  primitive  mind 
alone;  the  whole  cultural  history  of  mankind  also  would 
have  to  be  surveyed.2 

'  Pp.  281  f. 

2  Possibly  the  question  will  be  raised  whether  my  use  of  the  terms 
"evolution"  and  "development"  is  accurate.  Should  not  both  terms 
be  restricted  to  structural  changes?  And  is  not  "growth"  the  proper 
term  for  what  I  have  called  evolution  of  functions  ?  In  reply  I  would 
point  out  the  following  facts :  (i)  The  idea  and  the  term  "function"  play 
such  an  extensive  part  in  biology  that  we  may  reasonably  doubt  whether 
anybody  would  be  satisfied  by  a  description  of  evolutionary  changes  in 
purely  structural  terms.  Functions,  as  biologists  see  them,  certainly 


222  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

X  The  bearing  of  all  this  upon  the  psychology  of  religion 
is  direct,  v  For  the  points  at  which  the  sharpest  conflicts 
occur  between  new  functions  and  old  are  the  points  at 
which  religious  consciousness  is  most  acute.  Here  the 
religious  experience  itself  is  a  revaluation  of  values,  a 
'  reconstruction  of  life's  enterprise,  a  change  in  desire  and 
in  the  ends  of  conduct.  Consider  the  evolutionary  sig- 
nificance of  prophetism  of  the  ethical  type.  The  prophet 
calls  upon  the  people  to  like  what  they  do  not  like,  and 
in  the  long  run  he  makes  them  do  it.  His  own  generation 

evolve.  (2)  The  inclusion  of  mental  functions  within  the  concept  of 
evolution  was  accomplished  long  ago  in  the  recognition  of  mind  as  a 
favorable  variation.  (3)  Whether  mental  functions,  thus  included  in 
the  concept  of  evolution,  are  all  of  a  kind,  or  whether  there  are  several 
kinds;  and  if  there  are  several,  whether  they  all  appear  at  a  single  point 
(remaining  thereafter  a  constant)  or  whether  they  appear  successively — 
these  questions  must  be  determined  by  empirical  inquiry.  (4)  Such 
inquiry  must  include  among  its  data  the  manifestations  of  mind  in  the 
cultural  history  of  man.  To  stop  where  biology  leaves  off  would  be  an 
arbitrary  procedure,  and  it  would  settle  important  questions  by  an 
a  priori  rather  than  an  empirical  method.  (5)  The  evolutionary  process 
might  conceivably  be  or  become  self-guiding  in  part  or  in  whole.  The 
human  species  may  yet  deliberately  control  human  reproduction  so  as 
to  select,  by  thought  analysis,  the  variations  that  are  to  be  perpetuated 
and  accumulated.  In  such  a  case  a  new  desire  would  appear,  a  new 
mental  function  which  would  in  some  measure  displace  natural  selection. 
A  eugenist  who  employs  argument  as  a  means  of  producing  a  better 
species  should  be  the  last  person  to  question  the  proposition  that  mental 
functions  change,  and  that  the  term  "evolution"  applies  in  the  strictest 
sense  to  such  changes.  (6)  It  follows  that  the  cultural  heritage  of  the 
race  may  be  more  than  an  accumulation  of  instruments  organized  and 
directed  by  merely  primordial  impulses.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  education 

aims,  as  Thorndike  points  out,  "to  make  men  want  the  right  things 

We  have  to  make  use  of  nature,  to  co-operate  with  each  other,  and  to 
improve  ourselves"  (Education  [New  York,  1912],  p.  n).  Education  is 
always  selective.  It  never  seeks  to  transmit  the  whole  present  social 
purpose,  but  only  certain  parts  of  it  that  are  regarded  as  worthy  of  being 
strengthened  as  against  other  parts.  Therefore  the  cultural  history  of 
the  race  is  not  a  record  of  "growth"  merely,  but  also  of  changes  in  the 
directions  taken  by  the  whole  racial  movement.  The  appropriate 
designation  for  such  changes  seems  to  be  "the  evolution  of  functions." 


RELIGIOUS  REVALUATION  OF  VALUES         223 

may  stone  him,  but  a  later  one  builds  him  a  monument. 
The  prophetic  spirit,  in  both  the  leader  and  the  led,  is 
the  human  spirit  attempting  the  hard  thing  where  the 
easy  thing  might  seem  to  suffice.  In  the  Jewish- 
Christian  . form  prophetism  " takes  trouble"  about  the 
oppressed,  when  this  means  loss  of  profits.  Men  are 
attracted,  in  spite  of  themselves,  toward  a  vision  of 
brotherhood  that  will  take  away  many  a  hard- won 
social  advantage.  They  accept  a  social-ethical  thought 
of  God  that  causes  discomfort  to  those  who  seriously 
entertain  it,  for  it  makes  them  condemn  themselves. 
But  men  must  like  even  this;  else  would  they  not  build 
monuments  to  the  prophets! 

Our  discussion  of  religious  groups  and  of  religious 
leadership  shows  that  in  much  religion  the  prophetic 
spirit  is  not  clearly  in  evidence.  Yet  the  extent  of  it  is 
by  no  means  small.  Where  is  there  an  instance  of  a 
religious  leader  whom  the  world  calls  great  who  has 
achieved  his  influence  with  the  people  by  maintaining 
existing  standards,  much  less  by  lowering  them  ?  Cer- 
tainly Zarathustra,  Gautama,  Jesus,  and  Mohammed 
were  reformers  of  standards.  Every  one  of  them  took 
the  harder  road,  every  one  of  them  was  attractive  to 
men  because  of  the  very  thing  that  made  the  road  hard.1 

1  A  fine  example  of  the  process  may  be  found  in  the  earliest  Gathas 
or  hymns  of  Zoroastrianism.  Zarathustra  the  prophet  feels  himself 
called  to  deliver  to  the  people  ("the  kine")  a  message  which  he  realizes 
will  go  against  their  inclinations.  The  content  of  this  message  brings 
together  the  following  ideas:  economic  needs;  protection  from  enemies; 
the  sin  of  shirking  work;  the  sin  of  lying;  free  choice  between  good  and 
evil,  and  the  determination  of  destiny  by  such  choices;  the  duty  of 
joining  with  the  god  of  light  and  truth,  Ahura  Mazda,  in  his  contest 
with  Ahriman,  the  spirit  of  evil;  clear  recognition  that  this  contest  be- 
tween good  and  evil  exists  also  within  ourselves;  the  ultimate  overthrow 


224  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

An  oft-repeated  phenomenon  of  the  prophetic  conscious- 
ness is  shrinking  in  the  presence  of  an  overwhelming 
task.1  But  afterward  the  prophet  is  sustained  by  the 
very  greatness  of  his  cause. 

At  points  like  these  mental  evolution  is  not  motion 
in  the  line  of  least  resistance;  it  is  the  evocation  of 
resistance;  it  is  the  creation  of  problems  and  of  difficul- 
ties— it  is  the  clearest  sort  of  creative  evolution.2 

of  Ahriman  and  the  triumph  of  the  good.  Here  we  behold  ethical 
idealism  growing  out  of  the  soil  of  daily  labor — idealism  that  requires 
self-conquest  and  preference  for  the  hard  task,  yes,  participation  in  an 
undertaking  of  cosmic  import.  See  Sacred  Books  of  the  East,  XXXI,  1-90. 

1  "Ah,  Lord  Jahwe!  behold,  I  know  not  how  to  speak;  for  I  am  a 
child,"  pleads  Jeremiah  (Jer.  1:6),  and  Isaiah  cries,  "Woe  is  me!  for  I 
am  undone;   because  I  am  a  man  of  unclean  lips,  and  I  dwell  in  the 
midst  of  a  people  of  unclean  lips"  (Isa.  6:5). 

2  To  a  rather  surprising  extent  the  founders  of  minor  religions  and 
of  sects,  as  well  as  the  great  founders  and  prophets,  get  their  influence 
with  the  people  by  giving  them  something  harder  to  do.    Alongside  of 
insistence  upon  a  particular  dogma,  form  of  worship,  or  mode  of  ecclesi- 
astical government,  even  alongside  of  desire  for  health,  or  for  wealth, 
or  for  social  recognition  and  power,  we  find  self-denial,  ethical  austerity, 
a  fine  growth  of  gentleness  and  of  mercy  that  cost  self-discipline.    A 
good  recent  example  is  John  Alexander  Dowie.     He  was  a  healer,  a 
dogmatist,  a  shrewd  organizer  of  a  great  economic  enterprise.     Yet 
I  have  heard  him  preach  ethical  standards  with  definiteness  and  power 
such  as  I  have  rarely  witnessed  in  the  sermons  of  other  preachers.    It 
was  apparently  the  aspiring,  self-overcoming  factors  in  his  movement 
that  gave  it  a  chief  part  of  its  power  with  people. 

A  similar  remark  applies  to  Mrs.  Eddy,  though  with  modifications. 
To  the  question,  Why  do  so  many  persons  follow  Christian  Science? 
the  usual  answer  is  that  desire  for  health  is  the  essential  motive  power 
of  the  whole  movement.  Another  motive,  no  doubt,  is  desire  for  peace  of 
mind  in  a  restless  age.  But  discipleship  requires  also  a  sort  of  daring,  a 
letting  go  of  old  supports  (whether  drugs  or  public  sentiment),  and  no 
little  self-discipline.  It  is  almost  inconceivable  that  Mrs.  Eddy  could 
have  attained  her  remarkable  influence  by  her  healings  and  her  mental 
anodynes  alone.  There  had  to  be  the  self -overcoming  element  also. 


RELIGIOUS  REVALUATION  OF  VALUES         225 

The  obverse  of  the  prophetic  spirit  is  the  sense  of  sin 
in  the  stricter  meaning  of  this  term,  that  is,  disapproval 
of  one's  self  in  the  light  of  a  law  or  of  a  divine  command 
that  one  freely  approves.  Paul's  classical  description 
represents  it  as  disapproval  of  and  struggle  against  the 
very  thing  that  one  likes.  This  should  be  distinguished 
from  the  so-called  "  sense  of  sin"  that  consists  essentially 
in  discomfort  in  the  presence  of  something  that  one  wants 
to  escape.  In  Paul's  case  the  sinner  desires  to  cling  to 
the  very  standard  that  causes  the  distress. 

One  sometimes  hears  the  statement  that  the  sense 
of  sin  is  a  universal  mark  of  religion.  This  is  not  true 
unless  "sin"  be  taken  very  broadly,  as  is  done  in  trans- 
lations of  early  religious  literature  that  use  this  term  for 
such  things  as  offending  an  arbitrary  god  whom  one 
scarcely  loves  or  admires  or  approves  at  all.  The 
offense  called  sin  may  even  be  accidental.  The  term 
"sin"  is  used,  likewise,  to  name  violations  of  a  cere- 
monial code,  as  by  entering  a  holy  place,  or  by  touching 
a  tabooed  object.  Here  the  "sense  of  sin"  is  little  more 
than  fear  of  approaching  calamity,  and  "repentance" 
is  a  sort  of  running  to  cover.  The  worth-whileness  of 
the  divine  will  or  of  the  law  that  makes  the  trouble  is 
scarcely  considered  at  all,  but  rather  avoidance  of  the 
trouble. 

Yet  even  these  crude  fears,  by  virtue  of  their  an- 
thropomorphism, their  sympathy  with  the  offended 
spirit  or  god,  contain  the  germ  of  a  more  exalted  experi- 
ence of  sin  and  repentance.  It  is  remarkable  to  see 
the  sinner  exalting  the  moral  character  of  the  offended 
divinity,  and  then  taking  his  side,  as  in  the  Fifty-first 
Psalm.  Here  is  actual  desire  that  the  god's  point  of 


226  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

view,  which  condemns  and  gives  pain,  should  prevail. 
Then  comes  a  realization  that  human  nature  requires 
reconstruction.  This  idea,  already  present  in  the  great 
psalm  of  penitence,  reaches  its  classical  expression  in 

the  cry  of  Paul,  "What  I  hate,  that  I  do 

Wretched  man  that  I  am!  who  shall  deliver  me  out  of 
this  body  of  death?"  Theoretical  interest  in  this 
phenomenon  turned,  unfortunately,  to  the  problem  of 
the  origin  and  the  mode  of  transmission  of  "original 
sin."  Men  fought  over  the  relation  of  it  to  Adam,  but 
they  failed  to  see  that  human  nature's  recognition  of  its 
own  defects,  wherever  this  recognition  occurs,  is  part 
of  a  reconstructive  process  that  has  already  set  in,  a 
part  of  the  evolution  of  mental  functions. 

In  our  day  the  sense  of  sin  has  become,  in  an  appre- 
/  ciable  degree,  a  realization  on  the  part  of  individuals 
that  they  participate  in  a  social  order  that  is  in  large 
measure  unjust.  Looking  backward  to  Jesus'  ideal  of  a 
loving  society — a  divine-human  family — and  then  at  the 
ways  in  which  contemporary  society  prevents  men  from 
learning  to  love  one  another,  and  at  the  actual  exploita- 
tion of  men,  women,  and  children — body  and  soul — for 
profit,  many  a  Christian  has  come  to  realize  that  salva- 
tion cannot  consist  for  any  of  us  in  establishing  a  private 
relation  of  harmony  with  God.  Our  sinfulness  is  con- 
joint, co-operative,  and  our  salvation  accordingly  must 
be  wrought  out  in  a  reconstruction  of  society.  We  are 
in  the  act  of  achieving  a  social  conscience  by  revaluation 
of  our  values. 

A  little  way  back  a  hint  was  given  that  by  comparing 
new  wants  with  old  we  might  conceivably  discover  laws 
of  the  functional  evolution  of  mind.  Certainly  some  of 


RELIGIOUS  REVALUATION  OF  VALUES         227 

the  differences  between  the  wants  of  civilized  men  and 
those  of  savages  can  be  denned.  Aesthetic  wants,  for 
example,  have  disengaged  themselves  from  the  primitive 
utilities  that  gave  them  their  first  sustenance.  Likewise, 
desire  for  knowledge  has  been  enfranchised,  for  learning 
does  not  have  to  prove  its  usefulness.  We  express  this 
by  saying  that  beauty  and  truth  are  valuable  in  them- 
selves. This  is  as  much  as  to  say  that  over  and  above 
appetite,  above  all  that  is  unreflectively  instinctive,  we 
have  acquired  wants  that  utter  themselves  in  free 
contemplation,  reflection,  and  judgment.  This  is  what* 
makes  us  persons — this  achieving  of  some  freedom 
from  our  impulsive  selves  which  is  also  a  demand  for 
new  and  larger  self-realizations.  Men  are  most  clearly 
conscious  of  the  process  in  the  form  of  ethical  conflict 
and  achievement — the  overcoming  of  hatred  and  of 
indifference  toward  one  another,  and  the  displacement 
of  compulsion  by  reflective  loyalty  and  love. 

Here  are  traces  of  a  law,  of  the  functional  evolution  of 
mind.  The  relation  of  religion  to  it  is  most  intimate. 
The  connecting  thread  between  primitive  religion  and 
the  religions  that  are  counted  as  developed  is  the 
anthropomorphism  that  begins  by  peopling  everything 
with  friends  and  enemies,  and  culminates  in  faith  that 
at  the  heart  of  things,  as  at  our  hearts,  there  is  regard 
for  persons.  Therefore  our  preliminary  description  of 
the  religious  consciousness  as  the  effort  to  complete, 
unify,  and  conserve  our  values  may  now  be  rendered 
more  precise  by  noting  that,  though  this  effort  takes 
many  forms,  even  conflicting  forms,  there  is  a  charac- 
teristically religious  way  of  choosing  between  them. 
Religion  is,  indeed,  insistence  upon  having  enough  of 


228  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

what  is  desired,  but  it  is  also  criticism  of  desires.  Revalu- 
ation of  values,  it  is  true,  is  not  equally  present  every- 
where in  religion,  nor  does  revaluation  anywhere  advance 
with  even  pace.  Yet  this  is  the  function  that  character- 
izes the  confessedly  great  turning-points  of  religious 
consciousness  in  individuals  and  in  groups,  and  the 
direction  of  this  revaluation,  its  central  tendency,  is 
toward  the  placing  of  increased  value  upon  persons. 
''What  shall  it  profit  a  man  if  he  shall  gain  the  whole 
world,  and  lose  his  own  life  ?"  The  reverse  side  of  this 
valuation  of  persons  is  valuation  of  society,  which  is  the 
organized  regard  of  persons  for  one  another. 

The  conclusion,  thus  far,  is  this:  Mental  functions 
are  in  process  of  evolution.  The  law  of  this  evolution 
is  that  wants  are  reintegrated  in  terms  of  personal-social 
self-realization.  This  law  is  most  acutely  revealed  in 
the  religious  revaluation  of  values  that  is  character- 
istic of  prophecy,  the  sense  of  sin,  the  attribution  of 
ethical  character  to  God,  the  hope  of  life  after  death,  and 
faith  in  the  possibility  of  a  fully  socialized  society. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

RELIGION  AS  DISCOVERY 

We  have  taken  as  the  most  significant  mark  in 
religion — at  least  the  most  interesting  for  us — a  certain 
aspect,  tendency,  and  process  of  values  and  valuations. 
When  we  speak  of  this  as  religious  experience  we  assume 
that  here,  as  in  other  types  of  experience,  some  sort  of 
reality  reveals  itself  as  present,  that  some  phase  of  the 
real  world  is  here  and  now  becoming  defined.  *  Religion 
is  realization. 

This  proposition  brings  us  to  a  new  set  of  problems. 
What  they  are  will  become  clear  if  we  reckon  first  of  all 
with  a  misunderstanding.  The  standpoint  of  function 
or  value  is  supposed  by  some  persons  to  reduce  the  whole 
of  religious  experience  to  mere  subjectivity.  "When 
you  make  the  essence  of  this  experience  desire,  attitude- 
taking,  enterprise,  values,"  the  objector  says  in  sub- 
stance, "you  make  it  appear  that  the  reality  of  any 
object — divine  beings,  for  example — is  a  matter  of  reli- 
gious indifference,  whereas  interest  in  the  objectively 
real  lies  at  the  heart  of  religion."  It  must  be  confessed 
that  functions  and  values  have  been  handled  by  some 
writers  in  such  a  manner  as  to  give  prima  facie  ground 
for  this  objection.  It  does  not  hold,  however,  against 
the  value  standpoint  as  such,  but  only  against  a  particu- 
lar interpretation  of  it. 

If  reality  were  discovered  and  defined  altogether  by 
some  non-valuational  process — as,  for  instance,  by  a 

229 


230  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

supposed  "pure"  reason  or  by  a  supposed  "pure" 
empirical  science — and  if  religion  were  merely  a  con- 
sciousness of  getting  along  with  realities  thus  known, 
merely  a  set  of  satisfactions  arising  in  situations  ante- 
cedently given,  then,  indeed,  religious  self-realization 
would  be  a  subjective  shadow  or  epiphenomenon — what- 
ever this  may  be.  But  no  one  who  is  familiar  with  the 
main  lines  of  psychological  progress  needs  to  be  told 
that  any  such  notion  of  the  cognitive  process  is  archaic. 
Psychology  knows  no  "pure"  reason  and  no  "pure" 
science.^  In  tellectualism,  whether  a  priori  or  empirical, 
has  been  replaced  by  dynamic  views  of  the  whole  mental 
life.  --Mind  in  its  actuality  is  interest,  satisfaction- 
dissatisfaction,  desire,  action,  enterprise,  as  well  as  idea, 
memory,  judgment,  and  thought  system."  Neither  mere 
facts  nor  mere  values  are  found  among  our  data.  On 
the  idea  side  every  datum  includes  attention,  which  is 
selective.  »  Thinking  includes  a  "will-to-think."  Obser- 
vation attends  to  "this-rather- than- that,"  and  "takes-it- 
as-so-and-so."  On  the  other  hand,  we  have  no  such 
value  datum  as  " satisf action-in-general "  or  "as-such." 
A  value  is  a  discriminated  satisfaction  taken  as  a  mark  of 
an  object.  Thus,  on  the  one  hand,  cognition  is  no  mere 
mirroring  of  the  "is-ness"  of  things,  and,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  inner  world  of  desire  and  action  does  not  whirl 
upon  a  merely  subjective  axis.v  Desire,  attitude- taking, 
and  enterprise,  whether  religious  or  other,  are  at  the 
same  time  idea,  thought-organization,  and  discovery  of 
the  real.  For  reasons  of  convenience  we  abstract  now 
one  aspect  of  mind,  now  another,  as  the  idea  aspect 
(intellect)  and  the  action  aspect  (will);  but  if  we  then 
go  on  to  treat  any  such  aspect  as  if  it  were  a  thing,  or 


RELIGION  AS  DISCOVERY  231 

even  as  if  it  were  a  datum  rather  than  a  derivative  from 
a  datum,  we  begin  at  once  to  move  in  a  fog. 

This  dynamic  conception  of  mind,  necessitated  by 
analysis  of  particular  processes,  is  reinforced  by  more 
general  considerations  that  are  involved  in  the  evolu- 
tionary, natural-history  point  of  view.  Mind  lies  for 
us  wholly  within  the  objectively  real  world-order  called 
Nature — not  partly  within  and  partly  without.  *  Mental  j 
process  is  process  of  the  real  in  relation  to  the  real.  This 
we  may  safely  take  as  an  axiom  of  present-day  science, 
even  though  the  implications  of  the  axiom  be  not  yet 
fully  defined.1 

xOur  hesitation  with  regard  to  this  point — for  the  sciences  are 
nowhere  more  cautious — is  not  due  to  lack  of  affirmative  grounds  for 
regarding  mind  as  a  real  part  of  nature  dynamically  considered,  but  to 
foresight  of  difficulties  in  applying  the  notion.  We  are  cautious  about  a 
possible  return  toward  animism,  for  instance.  Nevertheless,  the  most 
complete  and  penetrating  critique  of  the  mind-body  relation  thus  far 
vouchsafed — W.  McDougall's  Body  and  Mind  (New  York,  1913) — 
accepts  the  doctrine  of  real  interaction.  Biology  hesitates  to  admit 
among  the  real  factors  in  evolution  anything  not  involved  in  the  sim- 
plest possible  notion  of  living  body,  but  at  the  same  time  the  obvious 
continuity  of  biology  and  psychology  acts  as  a  constant  pressure  toward 
the  inclusion  of  mind  within  biological  dynamics.  The  general  situation 
may  be  described  as  follows:  first,  the  hypothesis  that  getting  what  we 
want  is  in  no  sense  due  to  the  fact  that  we  want  it  is  so  rash  that  scarcely 
anybody  is  willing  to  adopt  it;  secondly,  we  have  a  science  of  psychology 
that  is  objective  in  the  same  sense  as  other  sciences  (that  is,  it  is  based 
upon  observations  and  experiments  that  can  be  repeated  and  thus  be- 
come a  common  possession);  thirdly,  the  facts  with  which  psychology 
deals  are  obviously  continuous,  in  some  sense  or  other,  with  the  facts 
of  other  sciences,  especially  the  biological  sciences;  fourthly,  psychology 
is  increasing  our  control  of  nature  in  many  directions,  as  in  education, 
therapeutics,  and  even  business;  fifthly,  we  are  increasingly  aware  of 
the  historical  significance  of  social  experience.  But,  finally,  we  do  not 
see  how  to  relate  any  imponderable  psychical  realities  to  our  supposedly 
closed  and  self-conserving  physical  system,  and,  besides,  we  fear  a 
return  to  speculative  and  imaginative  interpretations  of  experience. 
On  the  whole,  however,  mind  takes  its  place  in  our  scientific  conceptions 
of  nature,  leaving  us  the  task  of  working  out  details  as  best  we  may. 


232  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

Adding  to  this  axiom  what  has  already  been  said 
concerning  the  relation  between  facts  and  values,  we 
shall  now  take^mind  as  the  name  of  a  real  ongoing,  a 
real  doing,  that  is  attaining  to  definition  of  both  itself 
and  its  world.  It  reaches  this  twofold  definition  in  one 
and  the  same  process.  Self-realization  and  world- 
realization  are  correlative  phases  of  the  same  experience. 
The  question — so  often  puzzling  to  students — of  how 
we  get  from  our  own  minds  to  objective  reality  is  to  be 
answered  by  denying  the  presupposition  of  the  ques- 
tioner. vThe  mind  lives,  moves,  and  has  its  being  within 
reality;  it  is  reality.  What  it  moves  from  in  the  progress 
of  knowledge  is  not  mere  subjectivity,  but  reality  in- 
definitely or  confusedly  aware  of  itself  and  its  environ- 
ment, and  what  it  moves  toward  is  clearer  definition  of 
both,  with  corresponding  focalization  of  functions. 

This  general  conception  of  mind  applies  to  religious 
functions  exactly  as  to  others.  Like  commerce,  govern- 
ment, or  education,  (religion  ^g  a  process  in  which  the 
real  produces  definition  of  itself)  Each  of  these  phases 
of  life  is  enterprise  and  discovery  in  one;  each  uses 
ideas  derived  from  all  sorts  of  sources,  but  in  using  them 
modifies  them;  and,  just  as  each  draws  from  many 
sources,  so  each  contributes  widely  in  turn.  This  is 
obviously  the  case  in  regard  to  early  society,  where 
religion  is  inextricably  intertwined  with  ceremony,  myth, 
industry,  social  organization,  and  ethical  standards. 
A  parallel  relation  appears  in  the  historical  connection 
between  theology  and  philosophy,  and  between  religion 
and  morals.  Religion  is  never  merely  an  " aside";  it  is 
a  "live  jssue";  and  the  liveness  of  it  is  manifested,  not 
merely  in  those  who  are  recognized  as  devotees,  but  also 


RELIGION  AS  DISCOVERY  233 

in  culture  generally — in  the  literature,  the  plastic  arts, 
the  world- view,  the  moral  ideals,  of  a  people.  One  cannot 
write  a  truly  realistic  history  of  mind  without  recognizing 
the  religious  enterprise  as  a  fundamental  factor  therein. 
If  at  the  present  moment  the  work  of  discovery  seems 
to  be  a  monopoly  of  the  sciences,  the  reason  is  not  that 
any  actual  monopoly  exists,  but  only  that  attention 
for  the  moment  happens,  because  of  certain  historical 
incidents,  to  be  focused  upon  scientific  processes  and 
products.  Mind  as  a  whole  is  enterprise,  and  enterprise  Sf 
is  discovery.  The  sciences  are  a  part  of  this  enterprise, 
and  they  do  experimentally  uncover  fresh  data;  but 
they  also  accept,  and  work  within,  data  uncovered  by 
interests  other  than  scientific.  Valuational  changes  that 
are  going  on  even  in  this  day  of  ours  are  transforming 
the  very  foundations  of  much  scientific  thought.  For 
the  real  world  of  the  modern  man  is  nature  plus  society, 
and  society  is  discovering  itself,  not  chiefly  through  the 
scientific  enterprise,  but  in  other  ways.  The  conditions  \ 
of  modern  life — industrial,  civic,  educational — have 
caused  us  to  feel  the  presence  of  one  another  in  new  and 
acute  ways.  Again  and  again,  when  we  have  assumed 
that  the  mechanism  of  an  enterprise  included  all  its 
essential  factors,  we  have  found  ourselves  checked  by 
the  personal  element.  Pausing  to  analyze  this  personal  | 
element  in  order  to  control  it,  we  have  come  to  value 
persons  in  a  new  way,  whereupon  the  enterprise  has 
changed  its  character.  For  example,  we  decide  to  apply 
efficiency  tests  in  a  factory.  At  the  outset  we  assume 
that  labor  is  simply  so  much  power  to  be  directed,  and 
we  think  of  it  as  continuous  with  the  power  of  our  steam 
engines.  But  sooner  or  later  we  discover  that  " labor" 


234  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

means  persons  who  must  be  reckoned  with  as  something 
other  than  a  part  of  the  machinery.  Humanitarian 
ideas  then  seep  into  the  ledger  and  the  b'llance  sheet. 
If  at  first  we  justify  humanitarianism  in  business  on  the 
ground  of  selfish  profit-seeking,  later  we  become  ashamed 
of  this  narrowness;  we  feel  a  presence  greater  than  the 
data  of  our  fiscal  calculations,  and  through  this  feeling 
the  horizon  of  our  enterprise,  and  therefore  the  horizon 
of  our  real  world,  moves  outward. 

The  modern  recognition  of  persons,  which  is  dis- 
covery, affects  our  thinking  in  ways  as  profound  as  they 
are  subtle.  We  have  a  new  interest  in  certain  facts — nay, 
that  we  discover  them  as  facts  at  all  is  because  interest 
runs  that  way.  Points  of  view  are  shifted  toward  social 
values  in  whole  ranges  of  investigation — in  history, 
economics,  psychology,  general  logic,  or  theory  of  the 
sciences,  for  example.  Hence  whole  bodies  of  particular 
discoveries  are  suffused  by  an  antecedent  sense  of  reality 
which  arises  in  our  social  valuations,  our  fresh  regard 
for  others. 

Let  us  not  conceal  this  factor  in  discovery  by  mis- 
construing the  significance  of  " points  of  view,"  as,  for 
instance,  the  social.  They  are  general  determinants  of 
the  sphere  or  phase  of  reality  with  which  a  particular 
science  deals.  When,  for  example,  the  sciences  under- 
take to  analyze  experience  from  the  point  of  view  of 
phenomena  only,  they  take  the  perceptual  process  as  real. 
A  generation  ago  many  a  man  of  science  dreamed  that 
by  defining  the  sphere  of  the  natural  and  physical 
sciences  as  phenomena  in  contrast  to  reality  we  should 
at  last  escape  the  entanglements  of  metaphysics.  But 
phenomenalism  in  science  does  not  escape  the  problem 


RELIGION  AS  DISCOVERY  235 

of  the  real;  rather,  it  makes  acute  the  question  of  what 
we  mean  by  a  perceptual  process  really  occurring.  So 
the  growth  of  social  " points  of  view"  in  the  sciences 
'  connotes  a  movement  in  our  sense  of  reality;  it  means 
that  a  new  recognition  of  persons  is  rinding  scientific 
ways  of  expressing  and  of  feeding  itself.  Thus  a  fresh 
feeling  of  social  values  blends  with  the  special  sciences 
in  the  discovery  of  man. 

It  is  thus  that  ( religion  ij  discover^  It  does  not, 
indeed,  establish  any  body  of  doctrine  that  is  immune 
to  the  ordinary  norms  of  judgment;  rather,  it  is  a  rooft 
that  goes  on  living  when  criticism  withers  our  systems 
of  doctrine.  Religion  survives  religious  doctrines  because 
the  adventure  of  life  is  large,  and  because  in  its  very 
largeness  as  adventure  it  is  an  original  acquaintance 
with  the  real.  This  assertion  rests  for  the  most  part 
upon  general  considerations,  just  stated,  concerning  the 
nature  of  mind.  But  we  must  not  stop  with  anything 
so  general.  We  must  go  on  to  answer  two  questions  of 
an  entirely  specific  sort:  What  kind  or  phase  of  reality 
is  coming  to  light  in  the  religious  consciousness  ?  and, 
What  is  this  " coming  to  light"  that  is  so  different  from 
rational  criticism  ?  In  other  words,  what  is  the  content, 
and  what  the  process,  of  religious  realization  ?  The 
second  of  these  questions  will  occupy  the  next  chapter. 

We  have  seen  that  all  sorts  of  wants  appear  as 
religious  at  some  time  or  other,  but  we  have  seen  also 
that  religion  is  a  law  of  mental  evolution,  in  accordance 
with  which  wants  tend  to  be  reintegrated  in  terms  of 
personal-social  self-realization.  This  reintegration,  we 
shall  now  see,  is  the  discovery  of  society.  In  the  strict 
sense  of  the  term,  " society"  means,  not  any  and  every 


236  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

aggregation  of  individuals,  not  mutual  dependence  as 
such,  but  consciousness  of  one  another  as  individuals^ 
having   worth   in    themselves   because   having   experi- 
ences of  their  own.     Society  is  a  reciprocal  attribution 
of  value  to  "IV  and  "thou's";  it  is  a  matter  of  per- 
sons.    Now,  in  all  strictness  and  literalness,  persons 
are  a  gradual  discovery  in  the  course  of  human  history. 
At  the  totemic  level,  the  bond  that  men  feel  uniting 
the  group  is  bodied  forth  to  thought  as  an  animal, 
a  plant,  or  other  object  that  to  us  is  non-human.    The 
totem  object   is    sacred,  has    value  in  itself,  but  no 
like  value  is  attributed  to  men.    The  ceremony  is  per- 
formed with  a  punctiliousness  that  is  genuinely  con- 
scientious, yet  conscience  requires  no  similar  respect  for 
the  feelings  of  one's  fellows.     Instinctive  affection  of 
parent  for  child  is  here,  of  course,  and  gregariousness  or 
pleasure  in  the  presence  of  others.     These  are  partly 
offset,  however,  by  what  seems  from  our  point  of  view 
to  be  extreme  callousness,  not  only  toward  strangers, 
but  even  toward  one's  own  flesh  and  blood.     As  to 
N  rudimentary  social  organizations,  we  have  seen  that 
v  though  men  "hang  together"  in  groups  that  have  some 
v  firmness,  the  cohesive  principle  is  not  feeling  for  the 
v  worth  of  the  individuals  who  compose  the  group.1    The 
I  sacredness  of  life,  the  rights  of  man,  the  immeasurable 
|  worth  of  the  individual,  are  ideas  not  yet  achieved, 
^i  though  the  instinctive  energy  for  this  achievement  be 
present.     Such  convictions  arise — are  now  in  our  day 
arising — in  and  through  fresh  feelings  that  accompany 
growing    and    changing    contacts    of    men    with    one 
another. 
•See  p.  125. 


RELIGION  AS  DISCOVERY  237 

The  gradualness  of  the  discovery  of  man  by  man  is 
often  concealed  from  us  by  the  tools  with  which  we 
study  the  past.  Such  terms  as  "person,"  "individual," 
"family,"  "society,"  "co-operation,"  which  derive  their 
connotation  from  our  relatively  advanced  life,  have  to 
be  used  to  describe  a  period  to  which  such  connotations 
do  not  apply.  It  is  a  mistake  to  assume  that  even  as 
instinctive  a  thing  as  parental  affection  is  the  same  at 
all  stages  of  human  evolution.  It  cannot  be  the  same 
if  parental  notions  of  children's  capacities  change,  as  we 
know  they  have  changed.  In  social  evolution,  not  only 
does  the  range  of  acquaintance  and  of  co-operation 
increase,  but  what  men  are  to  one  another — the  very 
concept  of  man — likewise  changes.  To  revert  to  a 
typical  fact  already  mentioned,  the  change  from  tribal 
to  national  organization  included  revision  of  the  notion 
of  justice,  which  is  the  notion  of  man.  In  the  figure  of 
the  ideal  monarch,  and  in  that  of  the  national  god,  we 
behold  a  fresh  step  in  men's  discovery  of  one  another. 

The  anthropomorphism  of  early  thought,  and  the 
dissolution  of  it  by  criticism,  are  sometimes  interpreted 
as  a  movement  from  a  personal  to  an  impersonal  point 
of  view.  But  this  is  less  than  half  the  truth.  The 
earliest  worship  is  not  directed  to  personal  gods.  Mana 
is  not  an  individual  at  all;  early  spirits  are  as  un- 
stable as  mists  that  appear  to  gather  from  nowhere 
and  to  disperse  into  emptiness;  even  when  a  divine 
name  first  becomes  a  firm  possession,  it  signifies  no 
firmly  organized  divine  personality,  but  rather  some- 
thing that  may  be  on  occasion  a  man,  a  sacrificial  animal, 
a  great  spirit,  a  nature-power.  The  personal  god,  the 
correlative  of  personal  as  distinguished  from  institutional 


238  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

religion,  is  a  late  arrival.    Men  must  think  of  themselves 
as  persons  if  they  are  to  have  a  personal  god,  and  they 

/  think  of  themselves  as  persons  only  when  they  both 
individualize  one  another  and  think  of  the  other's 
experience  as  having  value  in  itself.  Only  a  personal 
god,  we  may  say,  is  fully  anthropomorphic.  In  this 

1  sense  the  movement  of  religion,  in  most  areas,  has  been 
toward  rather  than  away  from  anthropomorphism. 
Wherever  such  a  god  is  worshiped,  there  the  discovery 
of  human  persons  and  of  human  society  is  well  advanced. 
It  is  true  that  religious  institutions  have  practiced 
toward  persons  all  manner  of  cruelty,  repression,  and 
disrespect.  But  the  severest  condemnation  therefor 
springs  from  the  lips  of  prophets  who  speak  for  a  personal 
god.  Such  prophets  feel  that  spiritual  values — that  is, 
persons — are  values  from  no  mere  angle  of  approach,  or 
particular  position  in  time,  but  in  some  final,  eternal, 
and  cosmic  sense. 

It  is  true,  also,  that  religious  thought  in  one  great 
branch  of  the  race  has  issued  in  the  doctrine  of  in 
impersonal  ground  of  the  world.  How,  it  may  be  asked, 
can  this  prominent  fact  of  religious  evolution  be  recon- 
ciled  with  the  identification,  just  now  made,  of  the  inner 
principle  of  religion  with  that  of  the  discovery  of  persons  ? 
For  answer,  four  facts  and  phases  of  the  situation  in 
India  may  be  noted:  .First,  her  religious  philosophies 
do  not  define  the  popular  religion.  The  people  worship 
gods  who  have  definite  characteristics,  good  and  bad. 
Secondly,  the  motive  of  these  philosophies  does  grow 
out  of  an  increasing  sense  of  personality — the  mind 
thrown  back  upon  itself  by  the  pain  and  mystery  of  life 
The  reason  why  a  solution  of  the  problem  was  sought 


RELIGION  AS  DISCOVERY  239 

in  an  impersonal  absolute,  with  the  practical  corollary    / 
of  the  extinction  of  personality,  is  that  the  social  sig-  >  ' 
nificance  of  persons  was  missed  at  the  outset.    Society,! 
and  society  only,  is  the  sphere  of  personal  self-realization. 
When,  therefore,  the  Brahmin  thinks  to  discover  the 
real  world  by  introversion,  ignoring  the  social  reality 
that  is  immediately  before  him,  he  excludes  from  his 
data  the  only  experience  that  can  sustain  his  sense  of 
his  own  reality.     Philosophical  Brahmanism  and  Bud- 
dhism are  less  a  development  of  religion  than  a  sort  of 
self-suffocation.    Tltinl!v>  it  is  the  Brahmin's  non-social 
point  of  view  that  leads  to  his  doctrine  of  maya,  which 
asserts  that  the  whole  finite  world  is  an  illusion.     As 
social  participation  in  one  another's  experiences  is  the 
only  corrective  for  dreams,  so  also  it  is  the  only  sure 
bridge  between  the  abstracta  of  reflection  and  the  con- 
crete world-order.    Knowledge  is  co-operation.    Science 
knows  no  private  fact,  no  unshared  truth.     It  is  in 
society  that  real  objectivity  arises  and  has  its  meaning. 
I  Where  there  are  no  social  purposes  to  be  achieved,  there 
\no   stable  meanings  exist.     Does   our  Western  world 
realize  how  closely  its  superior  objectivity  of   mind, 
which  makes  possible  its  success  in  research,  is  bound 
up  with  our  occidental  sense  of  the  reality  of  persons  ? 
Fourthly,  no  doubt  India's  backwardness  in  practical  v 
matters  that  concern  co-operation  and  social  justice  is  ^ 
due  in  part  to  the  fact  that  her  thinkers,  from  whom 
social  leadership  might  have  been  expected,  have  com- 
mitted themselves  to  a  non-social  view  of  individual  j=^ 
experience. 

In  view  of  these  four  considerations,  we  shall  not  be 
indulging  in  arbitrary  or  subjective  criticism  if  we  con- 


240  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

elude  that  the  whole  situation  as  respects  philosophical 
Brahminism  and  Buddhism  presents  an  arrest  rather 
than  anything  that  is  typical  of  religion  as  such.  All 
in  all,  the  evolution  of  religion  is  to  be  witnessed  where 
social  integration  is  proceeding,  most  of  all  where  custom 
is  becoming  reflective  loyalty,  where  loyalty  is  coming 
to  understand  itself  as  love  (which  particularizes  indi- 
viduals), and  where  love  asserts  itself  as  demand  for 
justice  (which  is  the  recognition  of  persons  as  finalities 
for  thought  and  action).  Religion  js  the  ^iscovery__oi. 
persons. 

.  Those  who  say  that  the  present  social  movement  is 
essentially  religious  are  following  the  only  adequate  clue 
to  the  repentance-and-conversion  process  that  has  set 
in  on  so  large  a  scale.  Yet  some  distinctions  are  in  order. 
It  will  not  do  to  identify  all  sociality  with  religion — for 
instance,  sociality  so  instinctive  or  so  mechanized  as  not 
to  feel  the  reality  of  persons.  Further,  the  very  point 
of  religion  at  a  given  historical  period  may  lie  in  the 
opposition  of  a  fuller  toward  a  less  full  realization  of 
society.  ^  At  the  present  moment  in  the  western  world 
the  glow  of  religion  is  found  in  our  sociality  chiefly  when 
it  becomes  radical,  so  radical  as  to  accept  the  principle 
of  justice  as  unqualifiedly  valid.  Social  wholeness  or 
health,  under  unqualified  justice,  requires  that  the  utmost 
value  that  individuals  attribute  to  one  another  shall  be 
realizable  by  them.  There  are,  to  be  sure,  social  enter- 
prises of  great  worth  that  properly  ignore  the  question, 
What  would  satisfy  the  reciprocal  good-will  of  men 
toward  one  another?  But  this  is  precisely  the  sort  of 
question  that  religion  insists  upon  facing.  As  a  result 
it  finds  itself  in  the  profoundest  discontent  with  things 


RELIGION  AS  DISCOVERY  241 

as  they  are.  The  discovery  by  Christians  that  to  love 
enough  we  must  be  just,  and  the  corresponding  trans- 
formation in  their  thought  of  God,  leads  on  toward 
most  radical  demands.  v  Justice  cannot  measure  welfare 
by  averages;  it  cannot  forget,  as  science  often  must, 
vthe  individual  in  the  general.  A  fully  socialized  religion, 
which  is  none  other  than  religion,  is  therefore  the  most 
dangerous  thing  in  the  world  for  institutionalism  and 
for  rights  that  attained  their  full  growth  in  some  period 
already  past.  By  a  natural  spiritual  gravitation  our 
most  radical  social  groups,  as  far  as  they  are  conscious 
of  a  positive  human  goal,  tend  to  recognize  their  emo- 
tions as  religious.  For  religion,  to  quote  an  old  prayer- 
meeting  phrase,  "  laughs  at  impossibilities,  and  cries, 
'It  shall  be  done!'"  It  refuses  to  take  human  nature 
as  a  static  Idatum  eternally  resistant  to  social  ideals,  but 
insists  upon  the  possibility  of  fundamental  changes,  and 
sets  us  the  task  of  building  a  new  race,  a  regenerate  .race ! 
It  goes  so  far  as  to  face  the  apparent  defeat  of  life  byx>v 
natural  processes  that  entail  defect,  weakness,  and  death,  J 
and  it  insists  that  this,  too,  is  a  problem  of  justice  in  O 
the  radical  sense.  Religion  becomes  so  ultra-radical  inv 
its  sociality  as  to  raise  the  question  whether  there  is  ^ 
justice  in  the  cosmic  order  itself,  and  to  undertake  social 
enterprises  of  cosmic  scope,  such  as  the  promotion  of  a 
universal  democracy  of  God. 

Our  discussion  has  treated  the  evolution  of  faith  in 
divine  beings  as  all  one  with  the  discovery  of  human 
persons.  This  treatment  is  necessitated,  not  by  any 
supposed  logical  implications  of  human  selfhood,  but 
by  the  forms  actually  taken  by  the  historically  grow- 
ing social  self-realization.  At  the  totemic  level  men's 


242  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

realization  of  one  another  as  constituting  a  social  unit 
is  per  se  consciousness  of,  or  faith  in,  a  real  totem.    Tribal 
and  national  gods,  likewise,  are  no  mere  addenda  to  the 
social  objects;   rather,  in  god-ideas  the  tribe  or  nation 
articulates  its  own  social  insistency.    Stated  in  abstract  \ 
form,  faith  in  divine  beings  is  social  valuation  asserting 
itself  as  objectively  valid,  that  is,  as  not  mere  wish  but  " 
also  as  law  or  movement  of  reality. 

So  it  is  with  our  present  most  open-eyed  social 
idealism.    It  knows  itself  to  be  more  than  a  subjective 
preference;    it  is  the  fulfilment  of  a  destiny;    it  is  the 
working  out  of  some  cosmic  principle  through  our  prefer- 
ences.   Duty  is  for  us  not  a  mere  imposition  of  the  mass 
will  upon  the  individual  ;  it  is  reality  in  the  large  making 
itself  felt  in  the  parts.1    Intense  devotion  to  the  social* 
welfare  takes  the  form,  without  any  addition  to  itself,  » 
of  reverence,   self-realization  through  unreserved  self-  ' 
giving,  and  desire  that  all  men'  should  reach  this  same 
Society  at  this,  its  highest,  would 


be  no  mere  aggregate  of  arbitrary  preferences,  but 
escape  from  the  arbitrary  into  law,  escape  from  the 
seeming  into  the  real.2  This  feeling  of  a  cause  that  has 
us  as  its  agent  leads  spontaneously  to  the  use  of  religious 
phraseology.  If  the  approach  is  through  the  notion  of 
moral  law,  we  get  such  terms  as  "ethical  religion''  and 

1  "Morality,  truly  interpreted,  does  bring  man  into  contact  with 
the  final  nature  of  things."  The  law  of  duty  "is  not  made,  and  cannot 
be  changed  by  God  or  man;  it  belongs  to  the  nature  of  things."  See 
W.  M.  Salter,  Ethical  Religion  (London,  1900),  pp.  84  f.;  cf.  F.  Adler, 
The  Religion  of  Duty  (New  York,  1909),  and  Life  and  Destiny  (New 
York,  1903). 

2Cf.  G.  Haw,  "The  Religious  Revival  in  the  Labour  Movement," 
Hibbert  Journal,  XII,  382-99. 


RELIGION  AS  DISCOVERY  243 

the  "  religion  of  duty."1  If  the  approach  is  through  a 
keen  sense  of  men  as  worthful  objects,  the  term  becomes 
the  ' '  religion  ofJiumanrLy . '  *a  If  the  emphasis  is  upon 
society  as  completely  organized  upon  the  principle  of 
justice,  we  hear  of  the  "religion  of  democracy."3  If  the 
social  impulse  attaches  itself  to  the  idea  of  production, 
the  command,  "Be  a  producer,"  may  assert  itself  as 
religious.4  In  short,  the  modern  social  movement,  where 
it  is  most  reflective,  is  religion,  and  as  such  it  is  also 
discovery  of  the  real  as  against  the  seeming.5 

As  we  have  already  noticed,  this  does  not  imply 
that  there  are  two  separate  and  independent  kinds  of 

1  See  references  in  the  second  preceding  note.  In  an  argument  ad- 
dressed to  ethical  societies  against  gh  ing  up  the  term  "religion,"  the  late 
W.  L.  Sheldon  said:  "We  hold  to  the  assurance  that  in  spite  of  all  the 
necessary  transformations  that  may  occur  in  human  emotions,  in  forms 
of  worship,  or  in  beliefs  about  the  supernatural,  we  can  retain  the 
hallowed  associations  we  have  had  with  this  phrase.  It  is  not  right 
that  we  should  consent  that  the  deepest  feelings  connected  with  it 
should  be  regarded  as  belonging  to  any  particular  creed  or  body  of  men. 
If  we  surrender  this  word  we  are  liable  to  be  driven  to  surrender  the 

feelings  connected  with  it Religion  implies  the  surrender  of 

one's  will  to  ideal  or  sacred  principles  which  are  to  him  the  expression 
of  the  true  destiny  or  worth  of  the  human  soul." — Ethical  Addresses, 
First  Series  (Philadelphia,  1895),  pp.  47  f.,  62. 

a  E.g.,  E.  H.  Griggs,  The  New  Humanism  (New  York,  1904),  chap.  x. 

3  C.  Zueblin,  The  Religion  of  a  Democrat  (New  York,  1908). 

«T.  N.  Carver,  The  Religion  Worth  Having  (Boston,  1912). 

s  The  authors  named  in  the  last  six  notes  are  only  a  few  of  those 
who  reveal  this  characteristic  tendency  of  present  social  thinking. 
Other  typical  names  are  as  follows:  Stanton  Coit,  "The  Humanity  of 
God,"  International  Journal  of  Ethics,  XVI,  No.  4  (July,  1906),  424-29; 
H.  D.  Lloyd,  Man  the  Social  Creator  (New  York,  1906);  G.  Spiller, 
Faith  in  Man:  the  Religion  of  the  Twentieth  Century  (London,  1908); 
H.  Jones,  The  Working  Faith  of  the  Social  Reformer  and  Other  Essays 
(London,  1910). 


244  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

discovery,  the  scientific  and  the  religious.  The  two  pro- 
cedures are  continuous  without  being  identical.  The 
sciences  are  a  part  of  the  total  adjustment  process  which 
in  its  totality  is  discovery.  We  are  discovering  ourselves^ 
in  short,  through  the  reintegration  of  our  wants,  scien- 
tific and  other,  in  terms  of  personal-social  self-realization. 
And  this  is  religion. 

It  will  be  asked,  perhaps,  whether  we  are  discussing 
religion  as  a  whole  or  only  at  its  best.  Have  we  not 
idealized  it  ?  Is  not  most  religion,  after  all,  institutional- 
ism,  traditionalism,  conformity  ?  Does  it  not  commonly 
reinforce  the  " powers  that  be"  in  their  resistance  to 
change  ?  Has  it  not  given  the  authority  of  supposedly 
supernatural  sanctions  to  what  is  natural,  temporary, 
even  arbitrary?  Are  not  these  alleged  discoveries  of 
persons  and  of  society  simply  instances  in  which  religion 
has  drifted  with  a  general  historical  current?  Has 
religion,  then,  contributed  anything  at  all  to  discovery  ? 
These  questions  deserve  an  answer;  they  deserve  it  most 
of  all  because  they  call  attention  to  historical  facts. 
What  is  needed  is  to  get  the  facts  into  perspective. 
When  this  is  accomplished  we  shall  see  that  the  whole 
evolution  of  mind  is  discovery,  and  that  the  defects  just 
mentioned  inhere  in  the  whole  discovery  process,  whether 
religious  or  scientific.^  The  history  of  science,  as  well  as 
that  of  religion,  discloses  a  long  series  of  blunders  based 
upon  the  assumption  of  finality  for  that  which  is  partial 
and  temporary.  There  have  been  scientific  as  well  as 
religious  orthodoxies,  with  their  mistaken  assumption  of 
authority,  their  suppression  of  dissent,  their  loan  of 
power  to  unprogressive  institutions.  Moreover,  what 
the  sciences  of  today  mean  by  science,  just  as  what  our 


RELIGION  AS  DISCOVERY  245 

discussion  has  taken  as  religion,  is  no  mere  average  of 
past  performances.    In  both  cases  we  understand  our- 
selves, not  by  a  mere  summation  of  instances,  but  rather   ' 
by  noting  a  characteristic  tendency.    Such  a  tendency 
may  be  resisted;    in  a  particular  instance  it  may  be 
suppressed.    Science  resists  science  just  as  religion  resists 
religion.    But  each  has  its  prophets  who  break  through 
the  resistance,  and  in  doing  so  reveal  the  deeper  nature 
of  the  enterprise.    In  neither  case  can  it  be  said  that  we* 
merely  drift  with  a  historical  current;   rather  we  press  < 
forward  in  an  adventure,  retrieving  our  own  errors,  and  * 
entering  fresh  territory. 

The  conclusion  is  that  social  valuation  is  of  itself  V 
recognition  of  the  real;  that  the  evolution  of  social 
valuations  is  a  progressive  discovery  of  persons  as  reals; 
that  intense  valuation  of  persons,  when  it  becomes 
reflective,  tends  to  define  itself  in  terms  of  a  cosmic 
reality  that  has  social  character.  What  we  have  here 
is  nothing  less  than  a  law  of  mental  integration.  Mind\ 
gets  itself  in  hand — focalizing  dispersed  attention,  or- 
ganizing impulsive  activities,  and  realizing  a  meaning 
in  the  whole — by  a  social  process.  This  process  is  at 
once  the  valuation  and  the  discovery  of  persons.1 

1  By  an  entirely  different  route,  E.  Murisier  arrives  at  the  conclusion 
that  religion  furnishes  the  chief  organizing  idea  (idie  directrice)  for  the 
evolution  of  personality.  See  Les  Maladies  du  sentiment  religieux  (Paris, 
1909),  pp.  69-72. 


CHAPTER  XV 
RELIGION  AS  SOCIAL  IMMEDIACY 

^  By  all  odds  the  most  baffling  item  of  experience  is  the 
fact  that  persons  are  present  to  one  another  and  have 
experiences  in  common.  It  is  baffling,  that  is,  as  soon 
as  philosophy  or  science  attempts  to  construe  it,  however 
luminous  it  may  seem  to  be  until  such  attempts  begin. 
Metaphysics  throughout  its  history  has  found  the  uni- 
versal easier  to  handle  than  the  particular,  especially 
easier  than  the  individual.  Usually,  too,  the  philosopher 
and  his  disciple  converse  together  (by  means  of  voice  or 
print)  concerning  various  objects  of  thought — unity  and 
plurality,  substance  and  attribute,  time,  space,  matter, 
soul — without  ever  noting  that  philosophy  is  conversa- 
tion, that  every  bit  of  philosophic  thought  is  a  mutual 
possession,  and  that  such  mutuality  might  conceivably 
be  a  qualifier  of  every  particular  philosophic  doctrine. 

Just  so  psychology,  keeping  its  eyes  upon  states  of 
mind  and  laws  of  mind,  and  assuming  that  there  are 
individual  minds  to  which  these  laws  apply,  has  rarely 
taken  into  account  the  fact  that  these  minds  converse 
with  one  another.  ^Psychology  itself  depends  upon  con- 
versation between  individuals;  it  is  conversation.  It 
assumes  that  psychologists  can  be  mutually  present  to 
one  another,  and  that  an  experimenter  and  his  subject 
can  be  present  to  each  other.  No  one,  I  think,  has 
ventured  to  construe  the  "presence"  of  a  laboratory 
subject  in  terms  solely  of  inches  apart;  there  is  always 

246 


RELIGION  AS  SOCIAL  IMMEDIACY  247 

the  additional  fact  of  communication,  or  of  having 
meanings  in  common.  Usually  this  having  in  common  is 
of  the  essence  of  the  experiment,  as  in  giving  directions 
to  the  subject,  asking  him  questions,  and  having  him 
record  what  happens.  But  what  is  meant  by  or  implied 
in  the  notion  of  individual  minds  or  persons  who  are 
present  to  one  another  and  have  experience  in  common 
is  about  the  last  thing  that  psychology  inquires  into. 

There  are  good  reasons  for  this  reticence,  such  as 
the  danger  of  entanglement  in  metaphysical  speculations 
about  the  soul.  There  is,  too,  an  abundance  of  other 
problems  that  await  solution.  But  underneath  this 
reticence  lies  also  the  sheer  inapplicability  of  the  methods 
of  structural  analysis,  which  are  the  dominant  methods. 
Purely  structural  psychology  construes  experience  re- 
gardless of  experiencing  and  of  experiences.  It  knows 
no  Smith  or  Jones,  but  only  idea-of-Smith  and  idea-of- 
Jones.  Nevertheless,  in  the  concreteness  of  our  experi- 
ence as  psychologists,  we  are  not  "ideas-of  "  this  or  that, 
but  Smiths  and  Joneses,  experiencers.  Our  psychology, 
being  ours,  is  an  experiencing,  and  since  it  is  conversation 
it  is  an  experiencing  in  common. 

A  social  presupposition — the  real  existence  of  a  com- 
munity of  individual  experiencers — is  present  in  all 
science,  indeed,  just  as  it  is  in  the  world  of  buying  and 
selling.  And  it  remains  a  presupposition.  It  is  not  a 
hypothesis  that  requires  to  be  tested,  but  a  pre-condition 
of  having  any  hypotheses  at  all  and  of  testing  them. 
For  a  scientific  hypothesis  is  (among  other  things)  self- 
restraint  in  view  of  a  possible  social  judgment  upon  the 
matter  in  question.  The  verification  of  a  hypothesis  is 
the  attainment  of  a  proposition  that  can  assert  itself  as 


248  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

a  social  judgment.  That  which  makes  any  proposition 
scientific,  as  opposed  to  mere  opinion,  is  the  rigor  with 
which  the  conditions  of  social  participation  have  been 
observed.  These  conditions  include  stimulus  alike  to 
individual  self-expression  and  to  a  realization  that  some^ 
possible  common  meaning,  precisely  because  it  is  com- 
mon, expresses  one's  own  most  focalized  self.1 

To  this  extent  science,  as  well  as  religion,  is  a  social 
affair.  Not  seldom  this  phase  of  the  scientific  conscious- 
ness comes  to  the  foreground,  as  when  during  the  present 
war  scientific  men  assert  that  they  have  a  fellowship  with 
one  another  that  even  the  acid  of  national  enmity  cannot 
corrode.  Here — in  the  social  aspect  of  knowledge — is 
the  chief  clue  to  the  reverence,  the  elevation,  the  obvious 
religiousness,  that  appear  in  so  many  of  the  greater  men 
of  science  precisely  in  their  devotion  to  science  itself. 
"  Science,"  said  Huxley, 

seems  to  me  to  teach  in  the  highest  and  strongest  manner  the 
great  truth  which  is  embodied  in  the  Christian  conception  of 
entire  surrender  to  the  will  of  God.  Sit  down  before  fact  as  a 
little  child,  be  prepared  to  give  up  every  preconceived  notion, 
follow  humbly  wherever  and  to  whatever  abysses  nature  leads, 
or  you  shall  learn  nothing.  I  have  only  begun  to  learn  content 
and  peace  of  mind  since  I  have  resolved  at  all  risks  to  do  this.3 

Further,  just  as  in  prophetic  religion  we  find  acute 
consciousness  of  human  society  bursting  into  conscious- 
ness of  God,  so  the  scientific  consciousness  occasionally 
prophesies.  Huxley  is  an  instance.  He  says: 

In  these  moments  of  self-questioning,  when  one  does  not  lie 
even  to  one's  self,  I  feel  that  I  can  say  that  it  is  not  so  [that  his 
intellectual  work  is  done  for  honor  from  men] — that  the  real 

1  Cf.  the  description  of  deliberative  religious  groups,  pp.  131  ff. 
a  Life  and  Letters  (2  vols.,  New  York,  1900),  I,  235. 


RELIGION  AS  SOCIAL  IMMEDIACY  249 

pleasure,  the  true  sphere,  lies  in  the  feeling  of  self-development — in 
the  sense  of  power  and  of  growing  oneness  with  the  great  spirit 
of  abstract  truth.1 

v  Thus,   immanent  within   all  scientific   reasons   for 
things  (mediated  knowledge)  there  is  social  immediacy— 
the  experience  of  a  multiplicity  that  is  also  unity  of 
individuals  precisely  where  one's  own  individuality  is 
focalized  by  the  demand  for  critical  judgments.     The 
social  immediacy  of  science  is  not  an  isolated  thing.    It  f 
is  continuous  with  the  ethical  consciousness  of  being  I 
bound  with  others  of  one's  own  kind  under  a  common 
law.    Here,  too,  the  individual,  checked  in  his  desires 
and  compelled  to  scrutinize  them,  realizes  that  the  ideal/ 
common  will  is  his  very  own  will;  and  just  as  the  scien- ) 
tine  mind  now  and  then  feels  reverential  awe  toward/ 
the  spirit  of  truth,  so  ethical  law  often  becomes  envisaged 
as  a  single  will  that  is  somehow  also  our  own  several  wills. 
The  same  sort  of  movement  appears  in  aesthetic  experi- 
ence.   Social  participation  is  a  vital  presumption  of  art, 
and  the  emancipation  of  the  individual  that  is  achieved 
in  aesthetic  contemplation  is  emancipation  into  a  state 
.  much  like  communion. 

All  this  social  immediacy  is  continuous,  too,  with 
what  we  have  found  to  be  most  remarkable  in  religion, 
namely,  the  resolution  of  strains  and  crises,  which  make 
self -consciousness  acute,  by  spontaneous  recognition  of* 
the  experience  as  a  shared  one,  a  social  experience.  • 
Religion  is  or  includes  so  many  things  that  only  with 
caution   should  one  venture  to  say  that  this  or  that 
is   its   chief    distinction.     Nevertheless,    the   perennial 
tendency  of  religion  to  anthropomorphize  the  world, 

'  Op.  cit.,  I,  75. 


250  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

peopling  it  with  spirits  and  gods;  likewise  its  tend- 
ency to  sum  up  and  represent  social  organization,  social 
purpose,  and  social  protest  in  such  beings;  finally, 
the  constant  springing  of  faith  in  some  large  social 
meaning  within  the  lesser  social  meanings,  and  the 
springing  of  this  faith  directly  out  of  valuations  without 
waiting  for  rational  verification — all  this  justifies  the 
theory  that  what  keeps  religion  alive  is  this :  that  human , 
experience  is  an  individuating  process,  a  struggle  to  be* 
individual,  unique,  an  "I";  but  the  experience  of  being 
an  individual  is  per  se  an  experience  of  other  individuals.* 
I  say  an  "experience"  of  others  for  the  same  reason  that 
I  speak  of  the  "  experience  "  of  being  an  individual .  Both 
^phases  of  experience  simply  arrive;  they  are  not  derived, 
and  they  are  as  inexpugnable  as  any  other  data.  Thus, 
all  our  mediated  knowledge  rests  upon — is  made  possible 
and  meaningful  by — social  immediacy,  which  is  common 
to  science,  art,  morals,  and  religion. 

Here  is  a  root  that  lives  on  and  on,  ever  germinat- 
ing afresh  when  old  usages  and  even   sanctities  are 
cut  to  the  ground.  vReligion  repeatedly  recalls  atten- 
tion from  mediation  that  may  seem  to  be  self-sufficient 
to  its  ground  in  social  immediacy.     This  recall  takes 
many  forms.     The  occasions  of  social  excitement,  such ' 
as  hunger  and  war,  that  yield  the  characteristic  rites  ' 
of   early  religion   have    their    focus    in    this   question: 
What  is  to  become  of  us?    Religion  as  an  expression' 
of  political  unity  means,  Remember  one  another!     On 
the   ethical-prophetic   level,   religion   says,  Value   per- 
I  sons  above   all   else.     The  repentant  prodigal  "comes 
\  to  himself. "\  Reflective  religion,  striving  to  find  some 
wholeness   in   the  fragments  of  experience  (hence  the 


RELIGION  AS  SOCIAL  IMMEDIACY  251 

term  recollection  as  used  in  devotional  literature),  cul-/ 
minates   in   its    answer   to   the  question,  What  is  the 
meaning  and  value  of  life  ?    That  is,  cui  bono — to  whom 
is  it  good  ?    When  men  immerse  themselves  in  a  multi- 
plicity of  pleasures  or  in  an  accumulation  of  economic 
goods,  religion  asks,  Have  you  found,  or  lost,  yourself  ? 
If  ever  art,  imagining  itself  to  exist  "for  its  own  sake/' 
invites  us  to  enjoy  regardless  of  consequences,  religion  | 
/  asks  whether  anything  can  be  beautiful  that  tends  to  a 
i  disorganized,  ugly,  or  unsocial  self.     When  science  or 
(  philosophy  offers  as  the  truly  objective  world  a  system  of 
I  merely  mediated  items,  or  mere  content  abstracted  from 
experiencing,  religion  offsets  the  chill  of  such  a  world, 
by  the  warmth  and  self-evidence  of  personal  relations.  1 
/ After  all,  science  is  our  reaction;    the  experience  that 
makes  science  empirical  is  our  experience;  the  objective 
\  world  is  our  world,  and  there  is  no  way  to  assert  its  ob- 
jectivity  without  recognizing  the  multiplicity  of  per- 
sons  who  have  it  as  their  common  world.     This  social  \ 
immediacy  within  all  mediation  makes  it  forever  im- 
possible for  science  to  supplant  religion.^ 

But  we  are  not  at  the  end  of  our  problem  when  we 
have  merely  recognized  social  immediacy  as  the  warp 
of  our  experience.  There  is  a  woof  also.  You  and  I  are 
in  process;  we  are  parts  of  the  very  same  system  con- 
cerning which  our  illusions  arise.  We  are  born  and  we 
die,  we  come  and  we  go,  are  present  and  absent.  How 
many  of  "us"  are  there?  Who  knows?  And  how  do 
we  assure  ourselves  that  a  second  or  third  or  nth 
experiencer  is  at  all,  or  of  what  sort  he  is  ?  Nay,  how 
am  I,  caught  in  the  time-process,  immediate  even  to 
myself  ? 


252  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

Evidently  we  are  mediated  to  one  another  as  well  as 
immediate,  and  each  of  us  is  both  immediate  and  medi- 
ated to  himself.  I  am  self-conscious  by  an  utterly 
original  act,  yet  I  find  out  only  gradually  and  partially, 
by  observation  and  inference,  and  with  much  self- 
deception,  what  this  self  of  mine  is.  Just  so,  with  equal 
originality,  my  self-consciousness  is  all  one  with  con-, 
sciousness  of  others  like  myself — my  self-consciousness  is, 
social  consciousness.  Yet  only  by  much  putting  of  two  * 
and  two  together  do  I  secure  any  working  acquaintance 
with  my  socii.  This  intermingling  of  mediacy  and  imme- 
diacy, the  presence  of  both  at  exactly  the  same  point,  may 
be  paradoxical,  but  if  so  the  paradox  is  in  reality  itself.  If, 
then,  we  proceed  to  scrutinize  a  little  more  closely  the 
psychology  of  social  immediacy,  our  task  will  be,  not  to 
reduce  one  side  of  the  paradox  to  the  other,  but  only 
to  indicate  the  main  conditions  under  which  the  presence 
of  another  is  realized,  and  the  relation  of  these  conditions 
to  religion. 

Let  us  begin  with  the  self.  Under  what  conditions 
do  I  experience  myself  as  immediately  present,  and  what 
help,  if  any,  do  our  psychological  categories  give  toward 
construing  this  " presence"?  Are  the  conditions  of 
introspection,  for  instance,  favorable,  and  is  the  self  an 
object  of  introspective  perception  ?  Professor  Calkins 
has  painstakingly  pointed  out  that  much  experimental 
introspection  expresses  itself  in  such  phrases  as  "I 
remember  that  I  attended  to  the  shape  of  the  cube"; 
"I  immediately  experienced  the  feeling  of  familiar"; 
"I  said  to  myself "*  But  notice  that  the  pur- 

XM.  W.  Calkins,  "The  Self  in  Scientific  Psychology,"  American 
Journal  of  Psychology,  XXVI  (1915),  495-524. 


RELIGION  AS  SOCIAL  IMMEDIACY  253 

pose  of  the  experiments  would  not  be  interfered  with  in 
the  slightest  if  the  phrases  were  changed  to:  "the  shape 
of  the  cube  was  clearly  seen  to  be  so  and  so  ";  "A  feeling 
of  familiar  occurred  immediately ";  "Verbal  images  so 
and  so  occurred."  Notice,  further,  that  the  self  of  each 
introspector  was  in  every  instance  presupposed  in 
the  experiment  itself,  presupposed  by  both  the  ex- 
perimenter and  his  subject.  When  the  subject  uses 
"I"  in  the  description  of  his  introspections,  he  gives 
back  this  presupposition  without  addition  or  subtraction. 
Nobody's  knowledge  of  personal  selves  as  present  was 
strengthened  by  the  experiments,  nor  is  it  credible  that 
Professor  Calkins'  certainty  of  these  selves  would  be 
less  than  it  is  at  present  if  no  reference  to  a  self  had 
appeared  in  any  of  the  introspective  records.  Finally, 
what  is  the  attitude  of  the  introspector  if  not  that  of 
postponing  all  self-assertion,  of  abstracting  from  the 
likes  and  dislikes,  the  approvals  and  condemnations, 
the  co-operations  and  antagonisms — in  fact,  the  whole 
social  reference  of  the  self,  wherein  lies  the  tang  of 
selfhood  ? 

This  brings  us  to  the  heart  of  the  matter.    Whenever 
we  try  to  fixate  an  individual  as  a  mere  particular,  it< 
mocks  us  for  our  pains.     "Here  you  will  find  me,"  it, 
promises,  but  it  adds,  "You  found  me  before  you  com-  ^ 
menced  to  hunt  for  me,  and  you  didn't  find  a  mere  me  , 
but  an  W5."    The  very  first  coming  to  myself  "out  of 
the  deep"  was  a  coming  of  loves  and  hates;  considered 
as  discovery,  it  was  discovery  of  mutuality.    The  focali- 
zation  into  individuality  is  cross-focalization.   * 

Society,  consequently,  whether  it  includes  men  only 
or  men  and  God,  is  not  an  aggregate  of  individuals  any 


254  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

more  than  the  self  is  an  aggregate  of  states.  We  do  not 
obtain  one  another  by  adding  together  units  that  are 
originally  separate  or  self-subsistent,  but  by  progressive 
differentiation  within  what  is  given  as  mutual  presence 
of  individuals  to  one  another.  The  ancient  puzzle, 
"How  do  I  know  that  other  minds  exist  ?"  has  led  many 
a  thinker  into  a  trap  by  its  assumption  that  one  can  know 
one's  self  without  reference  to  other  minds.  No  one 
ever  did  get  his  knowledge  of  the  existence  of  his  neigh- 
bors by  first  knowing  his  own  existence  and  then  finding 
a  way  outward.  The  ego  phase  and  the  alter  phase  of 
experience  grow  up  together  and  reciprocally.  Further, 
the  differentiations  of  the  at  first  indefinite  ego-alter  into 
a  world  of  definitely-named  persons  are  only  secondarily 
inductive  inferences.  First  comes  love  or  hate,  which 
focuses  attention  and  provides  the  conditions  for  sub- 
sequent renewal  of  the  interest  that  underlies  every 
recognition  of  another's  identity.  Your  identity  is  alto- 
gether dependent  upon  the  loves  and  hates  borne  to  you. 
Indeed,  only  the  things  that  we  can  love  and  hate  have 
any  identity  at  all.  An  atom  or  an  ion  has  no  more 
identity  than  the  letter  A . 

These  remarks  apply  equally  to  my  knowledge  of 
my  own  existence.  As  we  have  already  seen,  I  do  not 
observe  myself  as  merely  there,  like  a  museum  specimen 
in  a  glass  jar.  Introspection  fails  to  find  me  precisely 
because  it  is  disinterested.  It  is  only  from  an  interested 
standpoint  that  the  "mine"  has  meaning  at  all.  I  find 
myself  by  being  a  friend  to  myself. 

Those  who  first  assume  that  one  can  know  one's  self 
without  any  social  reference  are  driven  to  guesses  and 
paralogisms  in  order  to  make  our  belief  in  the  existence 


RELIGION  AS  SOCIAL  IMMEDIACY  255 

of  others  seem  reasonable.  Attempted  proofs  are  bound 
to  fail  because  they  refer  each  case — say,  a  body  making 
certain  motions — to  a  presupposed  class-notion  "mind," 
whereas  the  question  at  issue  is  what  right  we  have  to 
any  such  class  notion  at  all.  The  crux  of  the  matter  is  a 
double  experiencing  of  the  same  object,  as  in  any  case  of 
co-operation  or  of  conflict.  How  can  I  from  my  experi- 
ence of  the  object  infer  in  another  a  coincident  experience 
of  it  ?  Back  of  inferences  as  to  the  presence  or  absence  of 
other  experiencers,  there  must  be,  obviously,  some  such 
datum  as  mutuality  or  communion.  There  is  no  getting 
behind  the  conviction  that  the  experience  of  a  particular 
object  may  be  a  dual  or  multiple  experience  and  may 
include  knowledge  that  it  is  multiple.1 

1 1  have  been  able  to  collect  eight  kinds  of  answer  to  the  question, 
"How  do  I  know  that  other  minds  exist?"  (i)  "I  touch,  see,  and  hear 
my  fellows."  To  this  a  query  is  applicable:  "Do  you  touch  a  second 
experience  of  touching?"  (2)  "I  know  other  minds  by  analogy  between 
the  motions  of  my  own  body,  which  I  know  to  be  associated  with  con- 
sciousness, and  the  observed  motions  of  other  like  bodies. "  So  F.  H. 
Bradley,  Appearance  and  Reality  (London  1893),  p.  255.  The  position 
of  Leuba,  as  stated  in  "Religion  and  the  Discovery  of  Truth,"  Journal 
of  Philosophy,  IX  (1912),  406-11,  is  as  follows:  "Human  beings  are 
objects  of  sense  to  me:  I  touch,  see,  hear,  them.  They  behave  exactly 
as  I  do  and  respond  obviously  to  my  presence.  These  beings  meet 
every  scientific  test  of  my  belief  that  they  think  and  feel  as  I  do." 
Here  three  different  theories  seem  to  be  mixed  together:  (a)  a  naive 
theory  of  perception;  (6)  a  theory  of  analogy;  (c}  a  theory  of  verification 
of  a  hypothesis  by  experiment.  It  would  be  interesting  if  Professor 
Leuba  would  indicate  the  nature  of  the  scientific  evidence  that  he 
himself  thinks  and  feels,  and  then  analyze  the  logic  of  the  experiment 
that  seems  to  him  to  prove  that  others  think  and  feel  as  he  does.  The 
supposed  analogy,  which  uses  bodies  as  the  bridge  between  minds, 
breaks  upon  the  fact  that  all  the  bodies  in  question,  my  own  and  the 
others,  are  content  of  my  experience  and  also  content  of  yours.  A  body 
could  not  be  a  bridge  between  these  two  experiences  unless  it  were  first 
disengaged  from  both  of  them.  In  my  knowledge  of  any  other  mind, 


256  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

The  differentiation  of  the  primordial  sociality  of  our 
experience  into  sharply  focalized  "IV  and  "thou's"  takes 
place  primarily,  I  have  said,  by  the  way  of  loving  and 
hating.  An  interesting  side  light  upon  this  fact  may  be 
found  in  the  parallel  growth  of  the  scientific  movement 
and  the  social  movement.  Since  the  middle  of  the  last 
century  the  natural  and  physical  sciences  have  been 
successful  as  never  before  in  constructing  and  applying 
the  notion  of  an  all-inclusive,  impersonal  nature.  We 
ourselves  have  been  made  to  appear  as  parts  of  a  system 
that  offers  no  shadow  of  justification  for  our  partiality 

then,  there  is  no  intermediate  link  that  belongs  to  neither  of  the  minds; 
I  simply  duplicate  the  experiencing  of  everything  that  could  conceivably 
serve  as  a  link.  (3)  My  knowledge  of  the  nervous  system  somehow 
brings  me  closer  to  the  knowledge  that  another  mind  exists.  So  H.  R. 
Marshall,  Consciousness  (New  York,  1909),  pp.  173  ff.  Karl  Pearson 
suggests  that  if  I  could  connect  your  brain  and  mine  by  a  commissure 
of  nerve  substance,  I  should  then  have  a  direct  sense  impression  of  your 
consciousness  (Grammar  of  Science,  3d  ed.,  Part  I  [London,  1911], 
pp.  48-50).  But  would  I  then  know  you  as  experiencing  ?  If  not  how 
does  Pearson's  suggestion  help?  (4)  The  bridge  between  my  mind 
and  my  neighbor's  is  not  physical  but  spiritual.  Through  prior  knowl- 
edge of  God  I  have  a  category  that  I  can  use  in  the  interpretation  of 
sense  data.  So  W.  E.  Hocking,  The  Meaning  of  God,  etc.  (New  Haven, 
1912),  pp.  297-300.  (5)  My  knowledge  of  the  existence  of  other  persons 
is  a  postulate  of  my  life  as  a  moral  person  (Fichte).  (6)  My  knowledge 
of  other  minds  is  merely  an  instance  of  the  universal  method  of  the 
mind  in  outrunning  the  data  of  experience  in  the  interest  of  subjective 
needs.  So  G.  M.  Stratton  Psychology  of  the  Religious  Life  (London, 
1911),  pp.  364  ff.  (7)  My  knowledge  of  other  minds  is  direct  and  intui- 
tive; minds  are  continuous  with  one  another;  bodies  do  not  come 
between.  So  J.  E.  Boodin,  "Individual  and  Social  Minds,"  Journal  of 
Philosophy,  X  (1913),  169-80.  (8)  I  know  other  minds  by  being  in 
some  degree  or  sense  the  very  thing  that  I  know:  "Individuals  may  be 
included  within  other  individuals"  (J.  Royce,  The  World  and  the  Indi- 
vidual, II  [New  York,  1901],  238;  see  also  pp.  168-74).  Boodin  (op.  cit., 
pp.  174  ff.)  also  holds  that  minds  overlap. 


RELIGION  AS  SOCIAL  IMMEDIACY  257 

for  certain  parts  of  nature  as  against  others,  and  for 
certain  natural  processes,  such  as  love,  as  against  other 
natural  processes,  such  as  selfishness.  The  standpoint 
of  the  natural  and  physical  sciences,  taken  by  itself  alone, 
implies,  as  an  inclusive  finality,  the  non-individual,  the 
impersonal,  the  regardless.  But  precisely  at  the  bloom 
period  of  these  sciences  the  social  movement,  with  its 
vast  sensitiveness  for  humanity  and  for  the  individual, 
also  arose  with  insistency  and  with  no  little  power. 
What,  now,  is  the  relation  between  these  parallel  move- 
ments? The  natural  and  physical  sciences  have  not 
furnished  fresh  motives  for  loving,  but  they  have  opened 
fresh  opportunity  for  it  in  the  increase  of  human  inter- 
course, and  men  have  simply  seized  the  opportunity. 
The  fact  seems  to  be  that  we  love  just  because 
we  can! 

The  immediacy  of  our  social  consciousness,  that  is 
to  say,  is  not  a  static  aspect  of  it,  but  dynamic.  It  is 
pressure  toward  further  acquaintance,  toward  increasing 
recognition  of  myself  in  others  and  of  others  in  myself. 
This  dynamic  principle  of  human  nature  appears  in 
religion  as  follows:  Its  spirits  and  gods  have  been  real 
to  men  because  of  the  inner  pressure  to  love  and  hate, 
but  chiefly,  as  with  human  society,  because  of  the  inner 
pressure  to  idealize  or  love.  These  superior  beings  are 
differentiations  of  the  immediate  social  consciousness  by 
the  ordinary  method.  Similarly,  the  decline  of  faith  in 
any  of  them  has  followed  the  same  law.  As  science 
never  discovers  an  individual,  so  it  never  of  itself  dispels 
a  social  illusion.  We  outgrow  the  crude  gods  of  our 
ancestors  because  we  require  greater  scope  for  our  loves 
and  hates,  particularly  our  loves.  The  prophets  are 


258  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

zealous  to  make  the  character  of  God  appear  admirable. 
Xenophanes  (about  500  B.C.)  says: 

Mortals  fancy  gods  are  born,  and  wear  clothes,  and  have 
voice  and  form  like  themselves.  Yet  if  oxen  and  lions  had  hands, 
and  could  paint  with  their  hands,  and  fashion  images  as  men  do, 
they  would  make  the  pictures  and  images  of  their  gods  in  their 
own  likeness;  horses  would  make  them  like  horses,  oxen  like  oxen. 
Ethiopians  make  their  gods  black  and  snub-nosed;  Thracians 
give  theirs  blue  eyes  and  red  hair.  Homer  and  Hesiod  have 
ascribed  to  the  gods  all  deeds  that  are  a  shame  and  a  disgrace 
among  men:  thieving,  adultery,  fraud. 

In  opposition  to  all  this,  Xenophanes  declares: 

There  is  one  god,  supreme  among  gods  and  men;  resembling 
mortals  neither  in  form  nor  in  mind.  The  whole  of  him  sees,  the 
whole  of  him  thinks,  the  whole  of  him  hears.  Without  toil  he  rules 
all  things  by  the  power  of  his  mind.  And  he  stays  always  in  the 
same  place,  nor  moves  at  all,  for  it  is  not  seemly  that  he  wander 
about,  now  here,  now  there.1 

Similarly,  but  with  more  fire,  a  Hebrew  prophet  describes 
in  most  humorous  fashion  the  attitudes  and  the  incon- 
sistencies of  idol- worshipers : 

The  smith  maketh  an  axe,  and  worketh  in  the  coals,  and 
fashioneth  it  with  hammers,  and  worketh  it  with  his  strong  arm: 
yea,  he  is  hungry,  and  his  strength  faileth;  he  drinketh  no  water, 
and  is  faint.  The  carpenter  stretcheth  out  a  line;  he  marketh 
it  out  with  a  pencil;  he  shapeth  it  with  planes  and  he  marketh 
it  out  with  the  compasses,  and  shapeth  it  after  the  figure  of  a 
man,  according  to  the  beauty  of  a  man,  to  dwell  in  a  house.  He 
heweth  him  down  cedars,  and  taketh  the  holm-tree  and  the  oak, 
and  strengthened  for  himself  one  among  the  trees  of  the  forest; 
he  planteth  a  fir-tree,  and  the  ram  doth  nourish  it.  Then  shall 
it  be  for  a  man  to  burn;  and  he  taketh  thereof,  and  warmeth 

1  Bakewell's  translation  in  his  Source  Book  in  Ancient  Philosophy 
(New  York,  1907),  pp.  8  f. 


RELIGION  AS  SOCIAL  IMMEDIACY  259 

himself;  yea,  he  kindleth  it,  and  baketh  bread;  yea,  he  maketh  a 
god,  and  worshippeth  it;  he  maketh  it  a  graven  image,  and  falleth 
down  thereto.  He  burneth  part  thereof  in  the  fire;  with  part 
thereof  he  eateth  flesh;  he  roasteth  roast,  and  is  satisfied;  yea, 
he  warmeth  himself,  and  saith,  Aha,  I  am  warm,  I  have  seen  the 
fire:  and  the  residue  thereof  he  maketh  a  god,  even  his  graven 
image;  he  falleth  down  unto  it  and  worshippeth,  and  prayeth 
unto  it,  and  saith,  Deliver  |me;  for  thou  art  my  god.  They 
know  not,  neither  do  they  consider:  for  he  hath  shut  their  eyes, 
that  they  cannot  see;  and  their  hearts  that  they  cannot  under- 
stand. And  none  calleth  to  mind,  neither  is  there  knowledge  nor 
understanding  to  say,  I  have  burned  part  of  it  in  the  fire;  yea, 
also  I  have  baked  bread  upon  the  coals  thereof;  I  have  roasted 
flesh  and  eaten  it;  and  shall  I  make  the  residue  thereof  an  abom- 
ination ?  shall  I  fall  down  to  the  stock  of  a  tree  ?  He  feedeth  on 
ashes;  a  deceived  heart  hath  turned  him  aside;  and  he  cannot 
deliver  his  soul,  nor  say,  Is  there  not  a  lie  in  my  right  hand  P1 

It  is  the  same  immediate  social  dynamic  that  consti- 
tutes the  basis  of  the  Christian's  experience  of  the  God 
of  love.  Precisely  as  acquaintance  between  lovers  is 
idealization — yes,  as  all  acquaintance  is  constituted  by 
the  outward  pressure  of  the  social  dynamic  that  consti- 
tutes us  individuals — so  a  great  love  is  the  only  conceiv- 
able mode  of  discovering  the  Christian  God,  or  of  being 
discovered  by  him.  (The  Christian  does  not  first  find 
God,  and  afterward  love  him\  Rather,  repeated  exercise 
in  loving  one  another  and  in  overcoming  hate  and  indif- 
ference (exercise  that  starts  on  the  instinctive  plane)  at 
last  fixes  attention  upon  the  love  motif  itself,  and  we 
take  an  approving  attitude  toward  it,  an  attitude  exactly 
parallel  with  that  which  we  take  toward  one  another. 
An  ancient  Christian  writer  says:  "He  that  loveth  not 
his  brother  whom  he  hath  seen  cannot  love  God  whom 

'Isa.  44:12-20. 


260  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

he  hath  not  seen,"  and  "No  man  hath  beheld  God  at 
any  time:  if  we  love  one  another,  God  abideth  in  us"; 
and  yet  again,  "Let  us  love  one  another:  for  love  is  of 
God;  and  everyone  that  loveth  is  begotten  of  God,  and 
knoweth  God.  He  that  loveth  not  knoweth  not  God; 
for  God  is  love."  That  is,  the  self -manifestation  of  God 
to  us  is  precisely  in  this  love  that  we  experience  toward 
one  another,  so  that  our  communion  with  him  lies  in  the 
attitude  that  we  take  toward  the  social  motive  itself. 
To  say  that  we  fall  in  love  with  loving  should  not 

\seem  too   paradoxical,  especially  in  a  world  in  which 
artists  fall  in  love  with  beauty  and  thinkers  fall  in  love 

^with  consistency.  In  any  case,  it  is  a  fact.  Jesus, 
gathering  into  one  the  intimate  affection  of  Jewish  family 
life,  the  prophetic  appreciation  of  social  righteousness, 
and  sympathy  for  the  needy  life  around  him,  found  in 
this  experience  himself  and  the  Father,  and  by  his  own 
steady  living  in  this  "love  way"  he  helped  his  followers 
also  to  the  unreserved  love  that  is  their  experience  of  God. 
To  take  as  a  personal  presence  this  outgoing,  social, 
or  common  will  that  is  within  us  involves  no  process 
that  is  not  already  practiced  in  ordinary  social  inter- 
course.1 My  neighbor  is  present  to  me,  not  independent 

*H.  A.  Overstreet  ("God  as  the  Common  Will,"  Hibbert  Journal, 
XIII,  155-74)  thinks  that  religion  is  being  transformed  into  devotion 
to  the  common  will.  He  regards  this  will  on  grounds  that  are  not 
specified  as  impersonal.  Yet  he  makes  it  an  object  of  affectionate 
devotion.  He  is  on  doubtful  ground  when  he  supposes  that  men  do  as 
a  matter  of  fact  devote  themselves  thus  to  such  abstractions  as  "laws," 
"truth,"  or  "the  spirit  of"  something.  Certainly  the  parallel  that  he 
gives — the  transfer  of  political  devotion  from  kings  to  democracy — 
hardly  illustrates  his  point  since  devotion  to  democracy  is  above  all 
things  a  deeper  recognition  of  personality  as  defining  the  sphere  and 
ground  of  devotion. 


RELIGION  AS  SOCIAL  IMMEDIACY  261 

of,  but  by  virtue  of,  the  love  that  I  bear  to  him.  My 
certainty  of  him  is  inseparable  from  my  will-to-have-and- 
to-be-a-neighbor.  This,  of  course,  is  not  inference  or 
proof  in  the  case  of  either  my  neighbor  or  God,  but 
the  positing  of  a  premise.  Formal  logic  is  at  liberty  to 
treat  it  as  pure  assumption.  Nor  is  this  anything  strange 
or  exceptional.  "  States  of  consciousness  themselves," 
says  James,  "are  not  verifiable  facts."1  Because  these 
matters  are  assumptions,  they  will  never  be  verified,  but 
only  repeated.  The  Christian  will  never  see  God  any 
more  than  he  will  see  the  neighbor.  The  beatific  vision, 
if  it  should  ever  be  realized,  would  be  naught  else  than 
a  society  wholly  controlled  by  love.  God  would  still  be, 
just  as  he  is  now,  the  common  will  in  which  each  indi- 
vidual will  realizes  itself. 

But  the  conditions  for  repeating  the  assumption  of 
both  neighbor  and  God  may  grow  more  or  less  favorable. 
In  general,  it  is  by  indulging  social  impulses  belonging 
to  our  original  nature  that  acquaintance  with  others 
grows  firm.  Conversely,  by  suppressing  these  impulses, 
or  by  allowing  them  to  atrophy  through  lack  of  exercise, 
we  first  stratify  society,  assuming  that  the  many  are 
not  as  we  are,  and  then,  having  narrowed  the  range  of 
our  affection  to  our  "set,"  we  proceed  to  curb  affection 
itself.  It  is  perfectly  possible  for  us  thus  to  depersonalize 
our  world.  We  can  go  on  with  such  depersonalization 
until  our  fellows  seem  to  be  little  more  than  things.  On 
the  other  hand,  by  exercising  social  impulses,  by  forming, 
criticizing,  and  re-forming  social  purposes,  by  sharing 
in  the  joys  and  the  woes  of  others,  and  by  self-sacrifice 
for  the  neighbor,  we  can  focalize  and  intensify  our 

1  Psychology  (Briefer  Course),  p.  467. 


262  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

\^  consciousness  of  social  reals.  We  can  intensify  it  until  our 
real  world  is  pre-eminently  the  world  of  persons.  With 
the  growth  of  intense  devotion  to  the  neighbor  whom 
we  have  seen — one's  own  devotion,  and  the  devotion  of 
others — it  becomes  easier  and  easier  to  believe  in  God. 
Jesus'  life  of  simple,  unreserved  neighborly  love  does, 
in  truth,  directly  beget  faith  in  a  loving  God,  and  this 
is  the  tendency  of  every  similar  life.  Thus  in  and  through 
the  choice  of  others'  good  as  our  own,  which  may  also 
be  called  the  identification  of  our  will  with  theirs,  the 
real  existence  of  a  common  will,  and  even  the  personality 
of  it,  become  convictions.  This  conviction  is  the  experi- 
ence of  an  adequate  object  for  love.  It  may  take  the 
form  of  adoration,  or  of  friendship,  or  of  rescue  from  a 
divided  will,  or  of  release  from  fears  and  strength  to 
meet  the  ills  of  life.  But  whatever  form  it  takes,  what 
happens  is  the  recognition  of  the  common  or  social  will 
as  God  in  us,  and  this  "  recognition "  is  a  getting  ac- 
quainted that  corresponds  in  process  with  the  rinding 
of  any  friend. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

MYSTICISM 

The  social  immediacy  of  which  the  last  chapter  treats 
is  not  to  be  forthwith  identified  with  mystical  experience 
or  mystical  theory.  One  obvious  reason  for  caution  is 
lack  of  preciseness  in  the  term  " mysticism."  It  is,  in 
fact,  used  in  so  many  senses  that  one  might  wish,  in  the 
interest  of  science  and  of  religion  alike,  that  it  could  be 
blotted  out  from  memory,  so  that  we  might  be  compelled 
to  devise  different  terms  for  different  things.  Here  is  a 
partial  list  of  the  ways  in  which  it  is  used : 

"Mysticism"  means  a  great  variety  of  religious  experiences 
and  practices.  They  range  all  the  way  from  a  savage's  experience 
of  "demon  possession"  to  the  trance  state  that  Brahmanism 
represents  as  contentless  absorption  in  the  One. 

"Mysticism"  means  the  spontaneous  or  traditional  interpre- 
tations put  upon  these  experiences  by  the  persons  who  have  them. 
These  interpretations  always  involve  a  psychological  or  quasi-^ 
psychological  statement  of  what  happens. 

"Mysticism"  means  a  doctrine  of  intuitive  or  immediate 
knowledge  of  God. 

"Mysticism"  means  the  metaphysical  doctrine  that  only  the 
One  is  real,  and  that  we  know  reality  only  as  we  rid  the  mind  of 
the  phenomenal,  the  finite,  and  the  individual,  which  are  mere 
appearance  or  illusion. 

"Mysticism"  means  religious  internality  of  one  sort  or 
another  (such  as  Christian  love)  as  contrasted  with  ceremonialism, 
dogmatism,  and  external  good  works. 

"Mysticism"  means  supernatural  intervention  in  the  natural 
order.  The  "mystical  theology"  of  Catholic  writers  has  this 
denotation. 

263 


264  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

"Mysticism"  means  what  is  popularly  called  superstition, 
that  is,  belief  in  spirits,  or  in  magic,  or  in  astrology,  or  in  other 
hidden  powers. 

Without  arguing  for  any  exclusive  use  of  this  many- 
sided  term,  I  shall  first  show  that  there  is,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  a  historically  and  psychologically  coherent  series 
of  experiences  to  some  or  all  of  which  the  term  "mys- 
tical" is  commonly  applied.  I  shall  then  examine  from 
the  structural  standpoint  the  traditional  accounts  of 
mystical  processes  given  by  mystics  themselves.  The 
functional  aspects  of  certain  of  these  processes  will  then 
be  noticed,  and,  finally,  a  question  will  be  raised  as  to 
their  relation  to  social  immediacy. 

The  problem  of  mysticism,  as  far  as  psychology  is 
concerned,  arises  from  the  fact  that  we  partially,  but 
only  partially,  foresee  and  control  our  bodily  and  mental 
changes.  What  we  do  that  is  habitual,  familiar,  or 
foreseen  we  call  our  own.  But  if  my  hand  writes  some- 
thing that  I  have  no  recollection  of  intending  to  write, 
or  possibly  something  that  I  have  no  recollection  of 
having  written,  we  call  such  writing  automatic.  So, 
also,  we  have  automatic  speech.  Similarly,  if  I  seem 
to  hear  the  voice  of  a  person  who  is  not  within  hearing 
distance,  or  to  see  someone  whose  body  is  certainly  far 
away,  psychology  calls  the  experience  hallucination  or 
mental  automatism.  The  term  " automatic"  applies 
also  to  ideas  or  thought  structures  that  unexpectedly 
dart  into  consciousness.  The  association  of  ideas  is  thus 
always  at  least  partly  automatic. 

When  primitive  men  experienced  loss  of  self-control 
through  drug  intoxication  or  through  any  of  the  trance- 
inducing  processes  already  described  as  the  basis  of 


MYSTICISM  265 

shamanism,  the  only  possible  interpretation  was  " pos- 
session " — that  somebody  else  was  controlling  the 
muscles  and  even  the  thoughts.  When  visions  and 
auditions  occurred  the  only  possible  view  was  that  this 
was  actual  seeing  and  hearing.  Out  of  such  mental  and 
bodily  automatisms  grew  spiritistic  practices — methods 
for  securing  visions,  or  for  getting  information  by  way 
of  impressions,  or  for  inducing  spirits  to  do  various  kinds 
of  work.  Modern  spiritism  lives  and,  mows  in  the- same 
general  sphere.  Wherever  it  is  not  fraudulent,  as  it  is 
in  materializing  seances,  it  has  to  do  with  such  phe- 
nomena as  automatic  writing  and  speech,  and  with 
visions,  auditions,  and  mental  impressions  which, 
whether  they  are  veridical  or  not,  fall  under  the  general 
notion  of  the  automatic.  What  distinguishes  intelligent 
spiritism,  such  as  exists  among  members  of  the  Society 
for  Psychic  Research,  is  the  view  that  the  presence  of 
spirits  is  evidenced,  not  in  the  automatic  as  such,  how- 
ever strange  it  may  be,  but  rather  in  the  critically  sifted 
content  of  the  automatic  deliverances. 

From  spiritism,  whether  primitive  or  modern,  to 
what  the  various  religions  have  called  inspirations,  there 
is  entire  continuity  in  point  of  psychical  process,  and 
even  in  historical  development.  Saul  consulting  the 
medium  at  En-Dor;  Saul  meeting  a  band  of  raving 
prophets,  and  going  into  a  trance;  Saul  troubled  by  an 
evil  spirit  which  departed  when  David  played  the  harp; 
the  "hand  of  Jahwe"  coming  upon  Elisha  so  that  he 
prophesied  when  the  minstrel  played;  the  visions  and 
overwhelming  convictions  of  the  great  prophets — these 
are  excerpts  from  a  single  historical  series.  If  the  term 
"inspiration''  points  to  process  as  distinguished  from 


266  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

tf 

content,  then  inspiration  is  common  to  spiritism  and  to 

prophetism.  More  than  this:  it  exists  in  the  Christian 
churches  today  as  sense  of  guidance  or  of  illumination,  as 
assurance  or  witness  of  the  Spirit,  and  as  a  sense  of  the 
presence  of  God  or  of  Christ. 

(  From  inspirations  to  religious  ecstasy  also  the  passage 
is^eontinuous.  The  man  who  is  merely  inspired  keeps  up 
more  or  less  discriminative  thought,  but  the  saint  who 
is  "rapt"  in  God  is  supposed  to  let  his  thought  activity 
cease  in  order  that  he  may  be  rilled  with  God  only. 
Extreme  mystics  assert  that  a  state  is  finally  reached  in 
which  self -consciousness  with  its  distinction  of  "I"  and 
"thou"  lapses,  and  God  is  all.  This,  which  is  ecstasy, 
is  obviously  just  the  maximum  of  "  possession."  Psy- 
chologically  it  is  the  automatic  at  its  highest  conceivable 
extreme.  There  is,  then,  psychological  continuity  be- 
tween shamanism  and  the  heights  of  mystical  rapture. 
That  there  is  historical  continuity  also  will  appear  when 
we  notice,  in  a  subsequent  paragraph,  the  peculiar 
relation  of  India  to  the  whole  mystical  movement.  The 
interrelations  here  involved  between  many  sorts  of 
experience,  theory,  and  practice  may  be  exhibited  in 
the  form  of  a  tabular  view,  as  shown  on  p.  267. 

This,  in  very  brief,  is  the  genealogy  of  mysticism. 
The  affinities  here  noted  do  not,  however,  exclude 
oppositions.  Just  as  chemistry  opposes  the  alchemy 
out  of  which  it  has  sprung,  so  a  mystic  may  abhor 
spiritism.  The  great  prophets  of  Israel  flouted  the 
shamanistic  prophets.  Catholic  writers  of  the  present 
day  condemn  all  dabbling  with  the  "occult."  Yet  the 
great  prophets  did  not  deny  actual  inspiration  to  the 

shamanism   that  they  condemned,   and  the  Catholic 


MYSTICISM 


267 


condemnation  of  spiritistic  practices  rests  on  the  pre- 
cise ground   that  they  bring  one  under  the  influence 

A  SURVEY  OF  THE  MYSTICAL 


Experience 

Supposed  Source 

Deliberate  Practice 

The    primitive    root  of   the 

whole: 

Automatic      experiences 

interpreted  as  posses- 

sion 

Spiritism,  ancient  and  mod- 

Attempts  to  control  spir- 

dern: 

its  or  to  communicate 

with  them: 

Spirits  seen,  heard,  "felt," 

Spirits 

Shamanism 

etc.;     spiritism  proper 

Mediumship  of  various 

shading  into  clairvoy- 

kinds 

ance,  premonitions,  etc. 

Inspirations: 

Attempts   to   realize  the 

The  experience  of  the  seer; 
sense  of  guidance  or  of 

God  or  gods  gen- 
erally conceived 

god  on    special    occa- 
sions   or  for    special 

illumination;  assurance 

as  transcendent 

ends: 

or  witness  of  the  Spirit; 

Oracles 

sense   of   divine   com- 

Some forms  of  revival- 

munion; "sense  of  pres- 

ism 

ence";  "anesthetic 

Holiness    movements 

revelation  "  ;     "  cosmic 

and  allied  practices 

consciousness" 

Divine  Healing 

Transsubstantiation 

Form:    Partial  abeyance 

Method:   surrender  or 

of  self-control  in  men- 

quiescence of  will, 

tal  functions;  occasion- 

suggestion  (largely 

ally    loss  of  muscular 

social) 

control  also 

Content:   somewhat  spe- 

cific ideas  which  seem 

to  be  self-evidently  true 

The  supreme  mystical  state: 

Attempts  to  realize  God 

Ecstasy 

God  —  tendency 

as  the  All( 

Supposed  form:  complete 
absortion    or    loss    of 

toward  panthe- 
istic conception 

Yoga  practices 
The  Christian  via  neg- 

personality 

ativa 

Christian  Science  and 

New  Thought 

Supposed  content:  either 

Method:  narrowing  of 

zero  or  infinity 

attention  and  auto- 

(These are  only  limiting 

suggestion 

notions) 

268  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

of  malign  supernatural  powers — "  demons"  in  the  evil 
sense. 

Nor  does  this  genealogy  indicate  of  itself  the  possible 
value  of  mystical  practices  or  the  possible  truth  of  mys- 
tical theology.  An  evolving  order  of  any  kind,  as  civil 
government  or  the  natural  sciences,  is  bound  to  contain 
in  itself  at  the  same  time  some  things  that  we  are  moving 
toward  and  others  that  we  are  moving  away  from.  Un- 
mixed values  and  unclouded  insight  we  never  have;  we 
never  quite  arrive;  we  never  are  altogether  quit  of  our 
past.  The  question  of  values  and  of  truth,  therefore, 
always  requires  us  to  weigh  various  elements  in  relation 
to  the  movement  both  from  and  toward.  Rejection  of 
spiritism  as  illusory  and  injurious,  consequently,  would 
not  of  necessity  carry  with  it  condemnation  of  every- 
thing that  has  grown  out  of  spiritism.  Developed  mys- 
ticism may  be  different  in  important  respects  from  its 
^  own  ancestors.  We  shall  see,  in  fact,  that  the  elements 
with  which  we  have  to  deal,  particularly  in  Christian 
mysticism,  are  complex  and  of  varying  values. 

A  structural  account  of  mysticism  requires  considera- 
tion of  the  following  items  in  reports  that  one  or  another 
mystic  gives  of  his  experiences: 

1 .  Sense  perception  of  objects  not  physically  present, 
as  Christ,  the  Virgin,  heaven,  and  hell. 

2.  Systematized  control  (not  mere  isolated  reflexes 
or  associations),  that  seems  not  to  be  self-control,  of 
muscles  or  of  thought. 

3.  What  James  calls  " noetic  quality,"  and  others 
call  illumination.    It  seems  to  the  one  who  has  it  to  be 
direct  certainty,  in  the  more  developed  mysticism  an 
intellectual  "seeing"  without  the  intellectual  processes 


MYSTICISM  269 

of  reasoning  or  proof.  Other  names  for  it  are  intuition 
and  immediate  knowledge.  The  objects  of  it  are  said 
to  be  God,  or  his  loving  disposition,  or  his  attitude  toward 
the  mystic,  or  some  doctrine,  as  the  relation  of  Jesus  to 
the  Father.  Now  and  then  a  Christian  mystic  is  con- 
vinced that  he  has  such  immediate  knowledge  of  each 
of  the  persons  of  the  Trinity. 

4.  At  the  climax  of  mystical  attainment,  which 
described  as  union  with  God  so  intimate  that  self- 
consciousness  vanishes,  the  feeling  tone  is  said  to  be 
utterly  satisfying.     This  is   ecstasy.     Even   the  less 
extreme  experiences  are  generally  reported  as  bringing 
relief  from  the  ills  of  ordinary  existence.    Yet  some  of 
the  great  mystics,  particularly   (perhaps  exclusively) 
Christians,  report  states  of  terrible  depression. 

5.  A  remarkable  feature  of  the  situation  is  that, 
though  mystics  as  a  rule  arev_fond  j^describing  the 
mystical  experience,  and  though  they  have  produced  a 
large  literature  of  the  inner  life,  they  commonly  declare 
that    what    they_Jiave    experience^_is__indescribable. 
Visions  and  auditions,  whichTare  describable,  they  look 
upon  as  inferior.     Indeed,  beyond  all  apparent  sense 
perception,   even   hevond_all   thought  that  moves  in 
mental  images,   they  find,   they  say,   a  higher,  more 
illuminating  experience.     This  they  declare  to  be  in- 
effable.    Such  declarations  are  so  common  that  James 
makes  ineffability  one  of  his  four  marks  of  mysticism. 
From   th<T  ^declaration  that  something  wonderful  has 
happened,  which  cannot  be  described,  some  interesting 
consequences  flow:    (a)  the  mystic  resorts  to  symbolic 
language;    he  uses  terms  of  sense  perception — sights, 
sounds,  odors,  touches — to  express  what  he  regards  as 


270  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

completely  supersensible;  (b)  he  employs  the  boldest 
paradoxes:  God  is  a  luminous  darkness;  the  mystic's 
experience  is  a  sweet  pain,  or  a  most  active  passivity; 
(c)  the  non-mystical  investigator  of  mysticism  is  argued 
with,  and  yet  assured  that  he  cannot  know  because  Jie 
lacks  the  experience  out  of  which  the  mystic  draws  his 
cerSnty^T^Thus  the  mystic  pleads  his  case  in  the  court 
of  discursive  reason,  yet  denies  the  jurisdiction  of  the 
court.  In  order  to  remedy  this  inconsistency  a  tendency 
arises  again  and  again  to  assert  that  mystical  experience 
is  universal,  commonplace.  At  the  present  moment 
this  attempt  makes  large  use  of  the  notion  of  the  sub- 
conscious, and  we  are  assured  that  what  has  heretofore 
treated  science  as  an  inferior  instrument  of  the  mind  is 
itself  becoming  a  matter  of  scientific  knowledge. 

6.  Wherever  mysticism  is  a  systematic  practice,  the 
procedure  contains  certain  common  elements.  The  first 
is  the  withdrawal  of  attention  from  the  activities  and 
sense  stimuli  of  the  common  life.  The  second  is  extraor- 
dinary concentration  of  attention  upon  some  particular 
object.  We  have  already  seen  how  the  shaman  employs 
such  processes.  They  reappear,  in  refined  form,  in  the 
higher  religions.  The  Buddhist,  or  Brahmin,  or  Chris- 
tian mystic  does  not  necessarily  resort  to  any  intoxi- 
cating, numbing,  or  fatiguing  process,  but  he  does 
systematize  the  fixation  of  attention  technically  called 
"  contemplation."  This  term,  as  used  in  mystical  litera- 
ture, does  not  signify  investigation,  or  discriminative 
thought  that  compares  one  thing  with  another.  It  is 
not  analysis.  It  is  not  an  effort  to  know  anything  new, 
but  simply  fixation  of  attention  upon  something  already 
regarded  as  real  and  important.  In  Christian  mysticism 


MYSTICISM  271 

the  common  objects  of  contemplation  are  God  and 
Christ;  in  Brahmanism,  the  pantheos  Brahma;  in  Bud- 
dhism, the  extinction  of  desire.  More  or  less  elaborate 
directions  are  given  to  neophytes  as  to  how  to  proceed, 
and  the  stages  of  the  process  are  carefully  set  forth.  In 
oriental  mysticism  there  are  directions  as  to  how  to  sit, 
how  to  control  the  breath,  how  to  exclude  the  distractions 
of  sense,  what  to  say  to  one's  self.  The  various  subjective 
phenomena  that  ensue  are  also  described  with  minuteness 
and  with  sufficient  objectivity  to  enable  a  psychologist  to 
recognize  connections  and  laws  that  are  familiar  to  him.1 
In  Christian  mysticism  less  attention  is  given  to  mere 
psychological  mechanics,  and  more  attention  to  idea 
contents.  Oriental  mysticism  as  a  whole  is  a  mind- 
emptying  process;  Christian  mysticism  professes  to  be  j 
and  in  a  large  measure  is,  a  mind-filling  process.  This 
is  necessitated  by  the  fact  that  the  Christian  God  has  a 
particular  character,  is  assumed  to  have  revealed  him- 
self in  a  particular  way,  and  requires  of  the  devotee^ 
active  virtues.  This  distinction  between  oriental  and 
Christian  mysticism  will  occupy  our  attention  later.  At 
present  it  is  sufficient  to  point  out  that  the  two  are 
alike  in  the  two  points  stated  at  the  beginning  of  this 
paragraph. 

7.  What  James  calls  the  passivity  of  the  mystic  is  a 
corollary  of  what  has  just  been  said.  In  the  sense  of 
bodily  repose,  and  in  the  sense  of  unresponsiveness  to 
ordinary  incitements,  passivity  does  mark  the  typical 

1  See,  particularly,  C.  A.  F.  Rhys-Davids,  Buddhist  Psychology 
(London,  1914).  This  is  not,  as  its  title  might  lead  one  to  suppose,  a 
psychological  analysis  of  Buddhist  practices,  but  an  exposition  of  the 
early  Buddhist  analysis  of  Buddhist  mystical  practices. 


272  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

mystical  technique.  That  is,  the  concentration  of  atten- 
tion that  it  requires  is  a  narrowing  of  attention,  a  retire- 
ment from  enterprises  and  problems.  But  the  control 
thus  required  has  to  be  achieved  by  effort  and  practice, 
land  the  holding  of  the  mind  at  just  the  right  point  is,  in 
|a  sense,  intense  activity.  Hence  it  comes  to  pass  that 
'both  passivity  and  activity  are  attributed  by  mystical 
writers  to  the  same  mental  state.  This  point  is  impor- 
tant for  estimating  the  significance  of  the  mystic's  belief 
that  his  impressions  are  infused  and  that  his  whole  being 
is  possessed  by  God  to  the  utter  exclusion  of  self. 

8.  Wherever  this  general  mystical  technique  is 
practiced,  there  mystical  doctrines  of  a  certain  generic 
type  are  taught.  The  illusory  character  of  sense  experi- 
ence; the  exalted  being  of  God  (even  beyond  all  predi- 
cates, as  contrasted  with  a  definite  divine  purpose); 
finite  individuality  a  concealment  rather  than  a  reveal- 
ment  of  the  real,  and  attainment  to  reality,  illumination, 
and  bliss  by  absorption  of  the  finite  individual  into 
God — these,  with  many  variants,  are  the  themes  or  the 
presuppositions  of  the  mystical  theory. 

These  are  the  facts  and  the  items  of  testimony  that 
require  placement  in  our  general  scheme  of  mental 
elements  and  processes.  The  first  of  these  facts  falls 
under  the  general  head  of  hallucination.  As  to  the 
second  fact — systematized  automatic  control — little  need 
be  said  beyond  what  is  contained  in  the  chapter  on 
"Religion  and  the  Subconscious. "  The  present  appli- 
cation of  what  is  there  said  is  as  follows:  What  seems  to 
immediate  consciousness  to  be  the  very  opposite  of  self- 
control  may  be  the  product  of  self-control  previously 
achieved,  or  of  habitual  acts  previously  performed.  Now 


MYSTICISM  273 

and  then  the  typewriting  machine  with  which  I  am 
writing  these  words  seems  to  run  itself;  the  control 
seems  not  to  be  resident  in  my  mind,  but  elsewhere — the 
keys  almost  seem  to  attract  my  fingers.  Yet  this  result 
is  strictly  my  achievement  through  practice.  To  deter- 
mine the  nature  of  the  control  in  the  case  of  a  mystical 
experience  we  must  look,  similarly,  for  possible  traces 
of  former  activities.  A  mere  impression  that  one  is  not 
the  author  of  the  ideas  that  stream  into  one's  mind  is 
not  sufficient  evidence  as  to  the  fact.  We  must  consider, 
also,  facts  like  these:  poetic  inspirations  come^Jn_any- 
thing  like  finished  form,  only  to  persons  who  have  read 
poetry,  studied  it,  and  attempted  to  produce  it;  mathe- 
matical inspirations  come  to  mathematicians  only; 
musical  inspirations  come  to  musicians  only.  The 
mystical  insights  of  any  religion  are  obviously  colored 
by  the  teaching  that  the  mystic  has  already  received — • 
every  religion  confirms  itself  through  its  mystics.  The 
Christian  mystic  feels  that  Christ  or  the  Virgin  Mary 
is  present;  a  Mohammedan  mystic  never.  Each  mys- 
tical religionist  brings  back  from  his  contemplation  the 
sort  of  ideas  that  he  took  into  it. 

This  is  the  general  situation.  It  tends  to  refute  the 
theory  that  the  mystic  is  ever  released  from  the  influence 
of  his  own  past,  ever  lifted  out  of  the  historical  current 
of  religious  life  into  a  non-historical  revelation.  The 
Brahmin  enjoys  communion  with  a  single  divine  being 
that  has  marks  of  India  upon  him;  the  orthodox  Catholic 
with  plural  divine  beings  that  have  the  orthodox  stamp. 
Each  mystic  takes  a  socially  produced  idea  as  his 
starting-point,  and  by  contemplation  makes  it  seem  to 
be  something  more  than  an  idea,  even  a  real  presence. 


274  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

Therefore   his   experience   can   never  be  exhaustively 
described  in  terms  of  a  private  relation  to  God. 

The  psychological  process  whereby  the  sense  of  real 
presence  is  produced  is  clearly  marked  in  mystical  litera- 
ture. The  management  of  attention  in  the  manner 
already  indicated  under  6  above  is  precisely  the  process 
of  suggestion,  for  a  general  description  of  which  see  p.  1 20. 
In  the  more  extreme  cases  the  mystic  produces  full  self- 
hypnosis.  He  is  then  in  what  is  called  trance,  a  term 
without  precise  bounds,  but  indicative,  when  used  of 
religious  states,  of  a  near  approach  to  mono-ideism,  or 
attention  upon  something  without  discrimination  or 
change.  If  a  mystic  were  completely  absorbed  into  a 
divinity  without  attributes,  subsequent  memory  would 
hot  enableThirn  to  say  mto  what  he  had  been  absorbed. 
Unio  mystica  in  the  sense  of  consciousness  of  absolute 
oneness  without  duality  is  therefore  only  a  limiting 
notion;  it  is  not  an  experience.  When  it  is  testified  to 
as  actually  occurring,  what  is  offered  us  is  an  interpre- 
tation (by  means  of  intellectual  tools  already  at  hand) 
of  a  gap  in  experience  or  (more  probably)  of  an  emotion 
that  had  slight  objective  reference  of  its  own.  In  the 
latter  case,  the  certainty,  yet  vagueness,  of  the  something 
there  is  parallel  to  our  occasional  certainty  upon  awaken- 
ing from  sleep  that  we  have  had  pleasant  or  unpleasant 
dreams,  though  we  cannot  say  with  what  they  were  con- 
cerned. 

From  the   generic  agreements  mentioned  under   8 
recent  writers  have  drawn  an  argument  for  the  truth  or 
objectivity  of  mystical  intuition.    Just  as  all  astronomers  ^ 
who  are  equipped  with  telescopes  can  see  the  rings  ofy 
Saturn,  so  it  is  held  that  the  mystics,  the  experts  of  all. 


MYSTICISM  275 

religions,  perceive  intuitively  an  all-encompassing  spir- 
itual world.  Why  this  generic  agreement  exists  will 
claim  attention  in  a  moment.  But  first  let  us  avoid 
exaggerating  the  agreement.  The  mystic's  certainty, 
which  he  regards  as  immediacy,  covers  the  points  at 
which  he  differs  from  his  fellow-mystics,  as  well  as  the 
points  that  he  holds  in  common  with  them.  The  differ- 
ences in  type  are  deeply  significant.  The  Protestant 
mystic,  to  begin  with,  differs  from  the  Catholic.  For, 
whereas  the  latter  accepts  dogma  as  completed  and  all- 
sufficient,  with  nothing  to  be  added,  the  former  looks 
for  fresh  insights  into  the  Bible  and  for  particular  guid- 
ance such  as  the  church  has  never  given.  Nor  does 
Protestantism  encourage  or  often  produce  ecstasy  or  unio 
mystica  in  the  classical  or  Catholic  sense.  Again,  Chris- 
tian mysticism  as  a  whole  is  markedly  different  from 
that  of  India,  as  different  as  the  Father  and  Christ  are 
from  Brahma.  Now,  when  we  consider  that  immediate 
knowledge  is  claimed  by  the  mystics  of  each  of  these 
contradictory  faiths,  the  supposed  consensus  of  mys- 
ticism reduces  itself  to  agreement  in  regard  to  a  few 
picked  items.  Obviously,  mystical  intuition  is  not 
self-consistent,  self-sustaining,  nor  self-correcting. 

The  generic  similarities  are  found  chiefly  in  the 
extreme  mystics  who  employ  the  technique  known  as 
the  via  negativa  already  referred  to  under  6.  The  essen- 
tials are  the  negation  of  human  interests,  or  the  emptying 
of  the  mind,  and  the  prolonged  fixation  of  attention  upon 
a  single  object  or  word.  The  resulting  movement  toward 
and  into  autohypnosis,  which  is  indeed  common  to  the 
mystics  of  different  religions,  can  be  shown  with  a 
high  degree  of  probability  to  be  the  real  source  of  the 


276  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

agreements  in  question.  Let  us  begin  with  the  sense 
of  illumination  or  " noetic  quality."  v  Doubts  disappear 
simply  because  attention  is  turned  utterly  away  from 
the  material  by  which  doubt  defines  itself.  Something 
parallel  happens  in  the  self-evident  certainties  of  dreams. 
Similarly,  one  may  experience  illumination  in  yielding 
to  the  spell  of  a  public  speaker  who  employs  suggestion 
skilfully.  The  illumination  of  the  mystic's  trance,  in  « 
short,  is  the  usual  hypnotic  self-identification  with  a  ' 
situation  that  lacks  shadows  because  attention  has  been 
directed  away  from  them. 

The  mystic  bliss  has  a  similar  explanation.    Relaxa- 
tion of  muscles,  and  removal  of  mental  inhibitions,  both 
of  which  are  involved  in  the  "way,"  tend  of  themselves 
to  yield  satisfaction.     The  same  comfort  of  relaxation 
sometimes  accompanies,  as  we  have  seen,  the  use  of 
narcotic  drugs.    Here  also  there  arises  a  sense  of  freedom 
and  of  joy.    Now,  such  drugs  not  only  had  a  large  place 
in  the  early  development  of  mysticism,  but  they  appear 
in  the  literature  of  today  as  adding  evidence  to  the 
general  argument  for  the  validity  of  mysticism.1     If  we 
add  to  this  general  psychophysical  condition   the  sug-/ 
gestive  influence  of  the  tradition  of  happiness  attained  > 
through  trance,  we  shall  have  all  the  explanation  that  . 
the  mystical  rapture  requires. 

But  a  directly  opposite  phenomenon  appears  among 
the  Christian  mystics — periods  of  terrible  depression, 
darkness,  apparent  abandonment  by  God.  This,  as  far 
as  I  am  able  to  discover,  never  occurs  in  Indian  mys- 
ticism, nor  do  I  know  of  any  writer  who  has  explained 

1  See  pp.  158-61.  See  also  James,  The  Varieties  of  Religious 
Experience,  Index,  s.v.  "Drunkenness"  and  "Ether." 


MYSTICISM  277 

this  remarkable  disparity  within  the  via  negativa.  Yet 
the  explanation  lies  near  the  surface.  The  Indian  mystic 
consistently  seeksjto  empty^ jiis  mind,  for  he  looks  for 
absorption  into  an  absolute  that  is  without  predicates. 
But  the  Christian  mystic  inconsistently  seeks  both  to  t 
empty  his  mind  and  to  fill  it;  to  lose  himself  in  a  divine  ' 
abyss,  and  yet  to  apprehend  God  in  the  historical  figure 
of  Christ;  to  forget  himself,  and  yet  to  remember  that 
he  is  a  sinner;  to  yield  himself  to  passive  bliss,  and  yet  to 
obey  the  behests  of  active  love;  to  enjoy  individualistic  *  '/ 
spiritual  luxury,  and  yet  to  follow  the  Christ  who  sacri- 
ficed and  suffered.  A  tradition  in  which  the  supreme 
manifestation  of  the  divine  being  is  a  crucifixion  fur- 
nishes a  background  exceedingly  different  from  that  of 
the  Indian  mystic  or  the  Mohammedan.  The  mental 
image  of  the  crucifixion  acts  as  a  direct  suggestion  of 
distress.  Further,  the  ethical  elements  in  the  Christian 
sense  of  sin,  elements  different  emotionally  from  the 
Indian  consciousness  of  finitude  and  multiplicity,  tend 
to  focus  contrasts  and  oppositions  which  the  Brahmin 
escapes  by  turning  attention  the  other  way.  The  Chris- » 
tian  mystic,  finally,  has  been  taught  to  care  for  his  own  ' 
soul,  to  regard  it  as  important  even  in  the  sight  of  God ; 
so  that  here  again  attention  turns  to  problems  of  moral 
status,  to  particular  acts  and  dispositions,  and  even  to 
emotional  ups  and  downs. 

Comparison  of  religious  trances  with  our  knowledge 
of  suggestion  yields  still  another  explanatory  item.  Paul 
had  an  experience  that  led  him  to  think  that  he  might 
have  been  for  a  time  "out  of  the  body."  Theosophists 
declare  that  they  have  direct  experimental  evidence  that 
the  soul  can  be  separated  from  its  fleshly  habitation  and 


278  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

return  to  it.  Such  statements  undoubtedly  spring  from 
actually  experienced  changes  in  bodily  sensibility. 
Functional  anesthesia  occurs  again  and  again  in  hyp- 
notic experiments.  An  arm  or  a  hand  may  be  to  its 
possessor  as  if  it  were  not,  or  it  may  seem  strange,  as,  for 
example,  without  weight.  Dental  and  other  operations 
have  now  and  then  been  performed  under  suggestive 
anesthesia  so  complete  that  the  subject  is  unable  after- 
ward to  recall  any  experience  of  pain.  The  basal  fact 
here  is  a  shifting  or  retractation  of  attention  with  respect 
to  the  mass  of  organic  and  other  sensations  upon  which 
our  habitual  sense  of  the  body  rests.  Such  retractation 
underlies  the  remarkable  anesthesias  of  hysterical 
patients  also.1  Still  more  profound  alterations  occur 
in  other  mental  diseases,  as  when  the  body  seems  to  be 
at  some  distance  from  the  owner  of  it.  Here,  too,  the 
basis  is  an  interference  with  the  usual  mass  of  body 
sensations.2 

With  these  general  factors  mingle,  in  many  instances, 
influential  circumstances  of  the  individual's  own  psycho- 
physical  constitution  or  incidental  condition.  Nervous 
instability,  whether  inherited  or  induced,  as  we  have 
already  seen,  favors  automatisms.  Or  shall  we  say  that 
when  the  automatic,  which  is  omnipresent  in  all  of  us,  is 
excessive  in  any  individual,  we  call  him  unstable  ?  Thus 
a  close  relation  may  be  found  to  exist,  in  individual  cases, 
between  mystical  religion  on  the  one  hand,  and  hysteria, 
or  epilepsy,  or  delusional  insanity  on  the  other. 

1  Paul  Janet,  The  Major  Symptoms  of  Hysteria,  Lecture  VIII  (New 
York,  1907). 

al  have  discussed  some  of  these  points  still  further  in  "The 
Sources  of  the  Mystical  Revelation,"  Hibbert  Journal  (January,  1908), 
PP.  359-72. 


MYSTICISM  279 

On  the  other  hand,  an  incidental  psychophysical 
condition  may  be  a  determining  circumstance,  as  fatigue, 
hunger,  or  sexual  longing.  The  general  mechanism  by 
which  sexual  longing  influences  religious  states  has  been 
described  in  our  discussion  of  adolescent  conversions. 
It  is  now  necessary  to  add  that  the  extraordinarily  fre- 
quent and  circumstantial  use  of  marriage  as  a  symbol 
of  the  soul's  relation  to  God  or  Christ  can  hardly  be  a 
mere  accident  of  figurative  language.  Celibacy  is  un- 
doubtedly a  factor.  Restless  hearts  have  found  in 
a  comani3i>lutfo 


substitute^  for  that  oj^Jjuisband  and  wife.  Similarly, 
adoration  of  the  mental  image  of  the  infant  Jesus  has 
furnished  outlet  for  parental  instinct  that  lacks  the 
ordinary  discharge.  Therefore,  in  the  analysis  of  mys- 
tical testimony  three  groups  of  factors  must  be  taken 
into  account:  (i)  The  most  general  factor  is  the  im- 
pressions produced  by  conditions  that  favor  automa- 
tisms, and  especially  those  that  lead  toward  self-hypnosis. 
(2)  Next  comes  the  influence  of  the  particular  religion  or 
sect  in  which  the  mystic  has  his  setting.  (3)  Finally, 
individual  differences  in  original  endowment  or  in 
induced  psychophysical  condition. 

So  much  for  the  structure  of  experiences  called 
mystical.  The  functional  aspects  must  now  be  noticed. 
The  matter  is  complicated  because  both  the  historical 
range  of  the  facts  and  the  individual  variations  are  great. 
Nevertheless,  functions  can  be  discriminated,  though 
they  fuse  with  one  another  at  the  edges. 

i.  Taken  as  a  whole,  mystical  experience  foQalizes% 
in  an  individual  some  existing  social  idea  or  standard,  S 
and  by  thus  focalizing  it  reimpresses  it  upon  the  group.  ' 


280  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

At  first  sight  one  would  say  that  the  highly  individual 
and  private  character  of  mystical  contemplation  must 
produce  variation  and  social  dissent.  On  the  other  hand, 
one  might  infer  that  the  surrender  of  self-control  in  favor 
of  automatic  control  would  lead  toward  the  reinstate- 
ment of  pre-moral,  instinctive  modes  of  behavior.  In 
fact,  neither  of  these  results  is  prominent.  Rather,  the 
mystic,  putting  himself  under  the  influence  of  tradition,\ 
reinforces  its  power.  Except  in  occasional  instances  he 
is  a  scrupulous  observer  of  conventional  morality.  As 
to  intellectual  variation,  the  most  noteworthy  fact  is 
that  the  great  Christian  mystics  are  found  in  the  church 
that  exacts  the  strictest  conformity. 

2.  On  the  other  hand,  the  "Now  I  know  for  myself " 
is  extremely  satisfying  to  the  individual  who  has  it,  even 
regardless  of  its  particular  content.     In   this  respect 
mysticism  is  not  at  all  peculiar.     To  accumulate,  or- 
ganize, and  communicate  experience  is  fundamental  in 
the  functions  of  the  human  mind.    To  behold  what  is 
beyond  the  mountains,  to  lift  the  veil  of  life's  mystery, 
to   see   the  invisible  divinity — this  of  itself  produces 
elation.     Mysticism  fascinates  men  partly  because  it 
produces,  more  largely  because  it  promises,  this  exqui- 
sitely satisfying  sense  of  individual  selfhood. 

3.  The  tradition  of  a  mystical  self-realization  is  most 
attractive  to  persons  who  surfer  from  a  sense  of  "divided 
self."    This  term  points  to  profound  or  recurrent  strains 
like  these :  a  struggle,  that  one  cannot  bring  to  a  victori- 
ous conclusion,  against  sinful  desires,  with  consequent 
deep  sense  of  personal  un worthiness  and  helplessness; 
profound  distaste  for  the  usual  pleasures  of  life,  with  in- 
ability to  find  a  substitute  for  them;  restlessness  and  a 


MYSTICISM  281 

feeling  of  life's  emptiness  that  arise  from  lack  of  exercise 
of  the  sexual  and  social  instincts,  or  from  lack  of  occupa- 
tion adequate  to  one's  intellectual  or  executive  powers; 
changeability  of  mood,  with  self-criticism  for  incon- 
stancy; persistent  doubts,  with  insistent  but  vain 
protest  against  uncertainty.  If  we  call  all  this  "  insta- 
bility," we  must  understand  by  this  term  not  only 
inherited  nervous  weakness,  but  also  induced  nervous 
depressions,  and  the  sorts  of  habit  that  may  make 
neurasthenic  one  who  might  be  normal.  All  the  mental 
strains  just  enumerated  may  find  relief  in  mystical 
practices.  The  divided  self  may  become  unified,  a  com- 
manding certainty  displacing  doubt,  a  focus  for  the 
emotional  life  being  established,  a  central  purpose  being 
substituted  for  discordant  impulses,  and  executive 
steadiness  being  achieved.  These  results  are  not  uni- 
form in  kind  or  degree,  of  course,  yet  on  the  whole  the 
,  tendency  of  mysticism  is  toward  serenity,  poise,  and  an 
organized  will.1  The  mystic  seems  to  himself  to  have 
sailed  from  a  tempestuous  sea  into  a  sheltered  harbor, 
or  to  have  awakened  from  a  troubled  dream,  or  to  have 
attained  control  of  paralyzed  organs.  This  result  appears 
to  depend  comparatively  little  upon  the  specific  content 
of  the  doctrine  upon  which  the  devotee  fixes  his  con- 
templation. Hindu,  Buddhist,  Sufi,  Catholic,  Christian 
Scientist,  nature-mystic — all  show  a  generically  similar 
unification  of  a  divided  self. 

4.  The  inclusion  of  religious  inspirations  in  our  survey 
of  the  mystical,  and  the  obvious  similarity  in  point  of 
process  between  these  and  other  inspirations,  as  those 
of  poets  and  artists,  raise  the  question  whether  one 

1  On  this  point,  see  particularly  Delacroix. 


282  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

function  of  mysticism,  after  all,  is  not  discovery.  To 
say  that  mystics  merely  give  back  as  personal  experience 
the  doctrines  that  they  have  received  is  surely  not  the 
whole  truth,  though  it  is  a  major  part  of  it.  Originality 
or  mental  invention  appears  in  the  prophets  of  Israel 
and  in  Gautama  as  surely  as  in  Goethe,  who  was  certain, 
as  we  have  seen,  of  his  own  inspiration.  Further,  the 
characteristic  mystical  doctrines  arose  in  the  first  place 
through  experience,  and  not  the  experience  through  the 
doctrines.  In  one  respect,  namely,  reduction  of  dis- 
tractions and  a  moderate  degree  of  muscular  relaxation, 
mystical  practices  are  favorable  to  thinking,  just  as 
quiet  in  an  auditorium  helps  to  make  a  symphony 
intelligible.  It  is  rather  surprising,  in  fact,  that  mys- 
ticism has  not  made  more  varied  contributions  to  the 
world's  thought.  Still  more  notable  is  the  fact  that  the 
most  certainly  original  prophecy  is  that  which  contains 
the  largest,  not  the  smallest,  amount  of  self-controlled 
discrimination  (see  p.  186);  precisely  as  the  more  valu- 
able poetic  inspirations  come  to  those  who  practice 
poetical  composition  with  critical  self-judgment.  On 
the  whole,  it  does  not  appear  that  mysticism  has  any 
special  method  of  mental  invention  or  any  special  tool 
/  of  discovery.  Its  hold  upon  mankind  lies  rather  in  its 
(  practical  efficiency  in  soothing  troubled  emotions,  in, 
\  steadying  the  will,  and  in  conserving  what  has  already 

been  approved. 

->  Vv  But  it  is  said  that  the  central  claim  of  mysticism  is 
direct  acquaintance  with  God,  and  that  the  sort  of 
immediacy  thus  claimed  is  involved  also  in  all  our 
acquaintance  with  one  another.  This  identification  of 
mystical  doctrine  with  the  doctrine  of  social  immediacy 


MYSTICISM  283 

is  possible,  however,  only  by  ignoring  certain  sharp 
differences.  It  is  not  in  India  but  within  the  Christian 
religion,  which  is  fundamentally  social,  that  this  defense 
of  mysticism  arises.  But  the  argument  ignores  certain 
basal  elements  in  the  Christian  attitude,  such  as  its 
appreciation  of  personality  and  its  ascription  of  immeas- 
urable worth  to  the  individual.  The  love  that  is  the 
fulfilling  of  the  law  individualizes  both  the  lover  and 
the  loved.  The  unity  that  it  requires  is  not  the  extinc- 
tion of  differences.  It  is  rather  a  determination  that 
what  is  other  than  myself  and  different  from  me  shall 
have  permanent  validity  for  me.  If  unio  mystica  in  the 
classical  sense  should  really  occur,  it  would  involve  the 
extinction  of  the  reciprocity — whether  between  man  and 
man  or  between  man  and  God — that  is  of  the  essence 
of  any  social  immediacy  that  the  Christian  religion  can 
recognize. 

The  practice  of  the  via  negativa  by  the  great  Christian 
mystics,  and  their  doctrine  of  union  with  God,  contain 
as  a  matter  of  fact  two  unreconcilable  elements.  In  the 
great  prophets  of  Israel  we  behold  a  burst  of  emphasis 
upon  the  individual  person.  Jahwe  is  no  longer  repre- 
sented as  dealing  with  Israelites  en  bloc,  but  his  com- 
mands and  his  condemnations  for  sin  search  out  men 
one  by  one.  Here  is  a  movement,  not  toward,  but  away 
from  absorption  of  the  individual  in  the  general.  Tm^ 
individualizing  of  values  reached  its  climax  in  Jesus,/ 
who  taught  that  the  Divine  Father  notices  the  fall  of  a 
sparrow,  and  numbers  the  very  hairs  of  our  heads. 
Compare  this  with  unio  mystica,  in  which  supposably 
nothing  in  particular  is  noticed.  Great  is  the  contrast 
between  the  happiness  of  trusting  a  Father  who  thus 


284  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

values  our  individuality  and  the  rapture  of  transcending 
all  awareness  of  "I  and  thou." 

In  the  Christian  mystics  called  great  the  Indian 
denial  of  the  value  of  the  individual  mingles  inconsist- 
ently with  the  Christian  doctrine  of  active  love.  Indian 
mysticism,  with  its  doctrine  of  absorption,  came  into 
Christianity  chiefly  through  neo-Platonism,  and  specifi- 
cally through  the  writings  of  an  unknown  philosophical 
theologian  of  perhaps  the  fifth  century  who  came  to  be 
mistakenly  identified  with  Dionysius  the  Areopagite 
(hence  the  present  name,  Pseudo-Dionysius).  These 
writings,  translated  into  Latin  by  Johannes  Scotus 
Erigena  in  the  ninth  century,  exercised  an  important 
influence  upon  piety  as  well  as  upon  speculation.  They 
furnished  a  thread  of  doctrine,  reaching  through  the 
generation,  upon  which  mystical  practices  from  both 
Christian  and  non-Christian  sources  could  be  strung. 
Hence  the  paradoxes  of  what  is  called  Christian  mysti- 
cism. Orthodox  trinitarianism  exists  in  the  same  mind 
side  by  side  with  a  monism  that  is  scarcely  distinguish- 
able from  pantheism.  Christian  love  is  identified  with 
an  experience  of  " union"  in  which  the  distinction  be- 
tween lover  and  loved  is  supposed  to  be  annihilated. 
Active  regard  for  humanity  is  associated  with  the  via 
negativa,  which  aims  to  get  away  from  one's  fellows  into 
a  purely  individual  bliss.  That  the  practice  of  such 
mysticism  did  in  many  cases  reinforce  Christian  love  in  the 
active,  outgoing  sense,  is  not  due  to  the  Indian  element 
that  was  present,  but  to  the  persistence  of  standards 
that  had  come  down  from  the  prophets  and  from  Jesus. 

As  far,  then,  as  mysticism  connotes  the  type  of 
procedure  that  Christianity  borrowed  from  India,  mys- 


MYSTICISM  285 

tical  experience  is  not  only  not  identical  with  social 
immediacy,  but  the  two  are  diametrically  opposed  to 
each  other.  Social  immediacy,  the  recognition  of 
another  as  present,  notices  and  fixates  differences  within 
a  unity,  and  demands  active  attitudes  with  reference 
to  the  other.  On  the  contrary,  the  negative  way,  at 
the  moments  when  it  is  most  completely  represented, 
involves  turning  away  from  the  neighbor  whom  one 
has  seen,  away  from  the  whole  sphere  in  which  love 
can  act. 


CHAPTER  XVII 
THE  FUTURE  LIFE  AS  A  PSYCHOLOGICAL  PROBLEM 

Belief  in  life  beyond  death  is  not  a  single  belief  based 
upon  a  single  set  of  motives  and  considerations,  but 
several  different  sorts  of  belief  that  arise  in  different 
ways.  In  the  first  place,  instinctive  avoidance  of  things 
that  cause  death  is  not  at  all  the  same  as  desire  for  the  I 
continuance  of  personal  life.  In  the  next  place,  the, 
notion  that  one's  double  lingers  around  the  place  where  , 
one's  body  is  interred  arose  before  there  was  any  clear 
notion  of  personal  life — long  before  appreciation  of  the 
worth  of  personal-social  experience  could  awaken  longing 
for  its  continuance.  The  earliest  spiritism,  in  fact,  was 
an  expression  of  fear  rather  than  of  hope.  The  dead 
man's  shade  was  an  object  of  avoidance,  even  of  horror. 
In  large  areas  and  for  long  periods,  as  in  Babylonia, 
India,  Israel,  and  Greece,  the  land  of  shades  was  re- 
garded, not  as  a  place  of  fulfilment  and  of  joy,  but  of 
feebleness  and  of  darkness.  Up  to  this  point  the  basis 
of  the  belief  in  survival  was:  (i)  Mental  habit  or  asso- 
ciation of  ideas  whereby  further  activities  were  expected 
where  so  many  had  already  occurred.  To  early  man  life, 
with  attitudes  of  "for  and  against,"  is  the  atmosphere 
of  thought;  it  required  no  little  experience  before  death 
could  be  thought  of  in  antithesis  to  life.  (2)  Occasional 
experience  of  the  apparently  sensible  presence  of  the 
dead — the  sort  of  eye-  and  ear-witness  that  we  classify 

286 


FUTURE  LIFE  AS  PSYCHOLOGICAL  PROBLEM      2&J 

as  dream  and  hallucination.  (3)  Motor  automatisms  for 
which  early  man  had  no  interpretation  but  possession. 
(4)  The  infusion  of  the  whole  with  the  Einfuhlung  of 
emotional  thinking. 

But  by  various  stages  and  routes  the  picture  of  the 
future  became  ennobled  to  correspond  with  growing 
discrimination  of  the  social  values  of  this  life.  Such 
was  the  effect  of  embalming  the  body  and  securing 
magical  control  of  the  conditions  of  life  in  the  other 
world,  as  in  Egypt.  The  weighing  of  the  soul  against 
the  feather  of  justice,  and  the  ceremonial  avowal  of  the 
soul  that  it  has  not  committed  this  and  that  wrong, 
represent  considerable  carrying  over  of  ethical  values 

to  the  realm  of  the  dead.    The»same  is  true  <of  the 

K  Tlojtt. 


.      f\  vr  H/W  PIK    ojtt.  ^.^M*s*Jky.u 
doctrine  of  metempsychosis;    the  Jewish  anoT  Christian 

doctrine  of  resurrection  ;  and  the  Zoroastrian  and  Chris- 
tian doctrines  of  a  future  judgment.  The  doctrine  of 
future  rewards  and  punishments  furnished  some  solace 
and  strength  to  those  who  felt  themselves  the  victims 
of  injustice,  and  to  the  tempted  at  least  a  little  restraint. 
Yet  even  the  notion  of  ethical  continuity  between 
this  life  and  that  which  is  to  come  does  not  unequivocally 
express  appreciation  for  personality.  For,  though  future 
rewards  and  punishments  reproduce  the  standards  of 
some  group  —  the  whole  picture  of  trial  and  retribution 
being  derived  from  human  laws  and  courts  —  the  individ- 
ual is  here  represented  as  simply  forced  to  submit  to  a 
power  that  imposes  itself  upon  him.  The  valued  thing 
in  such  a  system  is  not  the  person  and  his  capacities,  but 
rather  a  body  of  laws  conceived  as  somehow  worth  while 
on  its  own  account,  or,  more  generally,  an  arbitrary 
will  that  simply  cannot  be  resisted  successfully.  This 


288  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

abstractedness  of  the  future  life  from  the  experienced 
values  of  the  personal-social  life  of  the  present  appears 
with  great  clearness  in  the  notion  of  a  God  who  for  his 
own  glory  imposes  laws  and  administers  penalties,  and 
in  the  further  notion  that  not  by  any  possibility  could  a 
man  deserve  salvation. 

A  genuinely  new  approach  to  the  whole  question  of 
the  future  life  appears  when  men  ask  whether,  after  all,  v 
any  life  that  we  are  capable  of  living  is  worth  while,  and  x 
if  so  under  what  conditions  we  might  conceivably  attain  • 
the  worth  that  is  potential  in  us.     We  have  certainly 
accepted  as  valid  the  view  that  personal  life  as  such  is 
sacred.    This  is  something  different  from  taboo,  though 
there  is  doubtless  historical  continuity  between  them. 
What  we  have  in  mind  in  "  the  sacredness  of  personality  " 
is  not  some  evil  that  will  overtake  us  if  we  injure  a 
member  of  a  totem  species,  but  rather  the  social  possi- 
bilities that  each  individual  must  be  allowed  to  live  out  - 
simply  because  they  are  worth  while  in  themselves. 
Though  we  are  by  no  means  faithful  to  this  conviction 
in  all  spheres  of  social  life,  we  acknowledge  the  validity 
of  the  principle,   and   we  have  incorporated   various 
consequences  of  it  into  our  laws  and  social  customs. 

This  discovery  of  persons  puts  the  notion  of  survival 
into  an  entirely  new  perspective.  Death  now  appears 
to  be  an  interrupter,  if  not  destroyer,  of  what  is  most 
sacred.  Consequently,  directly  out  of  the  appreciation 
of  personality,  and  without  dependence  upon  antecedent 
spiritistic  beliefs,  or  upon  the  doctrine  of  retribution, 
there  arises  a  question  whether  or  not  death  is  simply 
defeat,  as  it  seems  to  be,  or  whether  it  can  somehow  be 
fitted  into  the  system  of  personal-social  values. 


FUTURE  LIFE  AS  PSYCHOLOGICAL  PROBLEM      289 

In  the  presence  of  this  question  four  types  of  reaction 
appear:  (a)  Some  men  persuade  themselves  that  the 
life  that  now  is,  is  good  enough;  or  that,  in  view  of  the 
improbability  of  life  after  death,  the  part  of  wisdom  is 
to  make  the  most  of  the  present,  and  meantime  to 
cultivate  indifference  to  the  future;  or  that  they  really 
do  not  care  to  live  after  death.  (Z>)  Some  attach  their 
thought  of  the  worth  of  life  to  the  notion  of  a  social  or 
otherwise  admirable  process  that  shall  go  on  indefinitely, 
even  though  the  individuals  who  compose  society  perish. 
(c)  Some,  holding  that  survival  is  desirable,  turn  to  the 
ancient  phenomena  of  spiritism,  or  to  fresh  methods  of 
evoking  spiritistic  phenomena,  in  the  hope  of  establishing  ; 
survival  as  a  scientific  certainty,  (d)  Some  translate  the 
^ancient  faith  in  heaven,  the  bright  abode  of  divinity, 
and  in  hell,  the  portion  of  the  wicked,  into  an  entirely 
different  faith,  namely,  in  the  continuity  of  personal-'-^ 
social  values.  In  the  new  faith  this  means  scope  for 
carrying  forward  such  social  enterprises  of  ultimate 
worth  as  the  discovery  and  control  of  the  conditions  of 
existence  and  the  creation  of  art. 

Three  questions  arise  here  that  may  be  considered, 
without  too  much  stretching,  as  the  concern  of  psy- 
chology:   (i)  the  scientific  character  and  the  results  of 
researches  into  spiritism  fostered  by  the  societies  for 
psychical  research;    (2)  the  function  of  the  future  in  ' 
present  personal-social  life;    a  preliminary  formulation  , 
of  this  question  might  be,  Do  men  desire  to  survive 
death,  and  if  so,  why  ?     (3)  what  effect,  if  any,  such  * 
desire  may  have  upon  the  further  evolution  of  mind. 

Psychic  research  has  had  scant  recognition  from 
orthodox  psychology.    Some  little  advantage  has  been 


2go  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

taken,  it  is  true,  of  data  that  concern  the  subconscious 
and  processes  of  both  intentional  and  unintentional 
deception,  but  the  enterprise  as  such  stands  outside  of 
recognized  science.  Why?  Partly  because  the  motive 
of  psychical  research  is  supposed  to  contain  a  large 
emotional  element — longing  for  communion  with  the 
dead;  partly  because  of  a  conviction  that  the  facts, 
whatever  they  are,  are  imbedded  in  such  a  mass  of 
trickery  as  to  require  the  methods  of  the  detective  rather 
than  of  the  psychologist;  partly,  one  may  fairly  surmise, 
because  of  a  certain  disrespect  for  mediums,  psychics, 
and  the  whole  tangle  of  delusions  that  certainly  envelops 
the  history  of  spiritism;  finally,  partly  because  many 
men  are  simply  not  interested  enough  in  the  question 
of  a  future  life  to  warm  up  to  the  hard  work  involved 
in  an  investigation  concerning  it.  This  is  as  much  as  to 
say  that  orthodox  psychologists  as  well  as  psychical 
researchers  are  to  some  extent  emotionally  guided — the 
emotions  are  different,  that  is  all. 

But  there  remains  one  distinction  that  is  not  emo- 
tional, a  distinction  of  method.  The  attempt  to  establish 
the  existence  or  non-existence  of  a  person  is  utterly 
different  from  anything  that  occurs  in  the  laboratory. 
Here,  as  I  have  already  shown,  all  the  persons  involved 
are  fully  recognized  as  such  in  advance  of  experiment. 
Moreover,  the  mental  processes  that  laboratory  experi- 
ment isolates  and  controls  for  purposes  of  study  are  only 
fragments  of  an  individual's  experience;  and  what 
experiment  does  is  to  relate  one  such  fragment,  not  to 
the  integral  self-realization  of  the  subject,  but  to  another 
fragment,  or  to  some  particular  circumstance  (as  a  drug, 
an  hour  of  the  day,  or  the  passage  of  time) .  As  far  as  I 


FUTURE  LIFE  AS  PSYCHOLOGICAL  PROBLEM      291 

know,  no  one  ever  became  convinced  of  the  existence  of 
a  mundane  person  by  analyzing  a  set  of  phenomena  to 
see  whether  they  require  the  hypothesis  of  an  individual 
consciousness.1 

Hyslop's  conception  of  the  method  whereby  psychical 
research  might  conceivably  establish  survival  is  based 
squarely  upon  the  assumption  that  one's  only  knowledge 
of  one's  neighbor's  existence  is  inferential,  specifically  a 
causal  inference.2  That  this  is  not  the  actual  method 
whereby  we  have  become  acquainted  with  one  another, 
and  that  it  is  in  any  case  illogical,  I  have  already  shown 
in  chap.  xv.  I  see  no  ground  for  expectation,  therefore, 
that  a  crucial  experiment  or  set  of  experiments  will  ever 
be  devised  that  will  demonstrate  whether  or  not  there 
is  a  personal  presence  in  given  phenomena.  In  the4 
recognition  of  persons  as  present  we  are  moving  in  the, 
realm  of  ultimate  assumptions,  that  is,  a  realm  of  selec- 
tion, rather  than  of  inference. 

In  spite  of  the  suspicion  on  the  part  of  critics  that 
psychic  research  is  emotionally  controlled,  it  has  made 
a  remarkable  attempt  to  eliminate  the  heart  from  its  ' 
labors.  It  has  undertaken  to  deal  with  actual  or  hypo- 
thetical trans-mundane  persons  as  if  they  could  be  mere 
cold  facts.  It  therefore  challenges  all  comers  to  construct 
if  they  can  a  hypothetical  causal  explanation  for  certain 
phenomena  without  employing  the  notion  of  personality. 
In  the  nature  of  causal  explanation  such  a  challenge  can 

1  Two  recent  presidential  addresses  before  the  English  Society  for 
Psychical  Research  go  far  toward  a  resetting  of  the  whole  problem.  See 
Bergson's  address  in  Proceedings  of  the  Society  for  Psychical  Research, 
XXVII  (1913),  157-75,  and  Schiller's  address,  ibid,  XXVII,  191-220. 

aj.  H.  Hyslop,  Psychical  Research  and  Survival  (London,  1913), 
pp.  64  ff. 


292  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

always  be  met.  The  facts  can  be  fitted  into  our  current 
notions  of  psychic  mechanisms  irrespective  of  the  pres- 
ence or  absence  of  persons  other  than  those  whose  exis- 
tence is  already  assumed  (never  proved)  by  those  who 
make  and  those  who  answer  the  challenge.  At  the 
present  moment  telepathy  in  a  very  extended  sense  is 
the  resort  of  those  who  engage  in  psychical  research 
but  whose  hearts  do  not  warm  up  to  the  alleged  com- 
municators.1 This  is  exactly  parallel,  in  respect  to 
method,  to  the  avoidance  of  personal  selves  altogether 
by  such  psychologists — structuralists  and  behaviorists — 
as  are  not  interested  in  the  full  concreteness  of  human 
experience.  Whether  a  psychical  researcher  shall  con- 
tinue to  develop  hypotheses  of  the  abstract,  quasi- 
mechanical  sort,  or  shall  let  go  and  recognize  a  discarnate 
spirit,  involves  something  more,  in  every  case,  than  the 
adequacy  of  a  given  hypothesis  or  the  amount  of  evidence 
for  it.  It  involves  transferring  himself  from  a  purely 
structural  to  a  functional  point  of  view,  and  it  requires 
specifically  Einfiihlung  or  so-called  self-projection,  with 
its  attitudes  of  sympathy,  liking  and  disliking,  or  co- 
operation and  antagonism. 

It  appears,  then,  that  the  problem  of  survival,  if  it  t 
is  to  be  worked  out  at  all,  will  have  its  seat  just  where 
the  general  problem  of  being  a  person  meets  us  in  the 
present  existence,  namely,  in  social  enterprise  with  its 
give  and  take,  its  self-seeking  and  self-sacrifice.  Here 
we  do  not  discover  one  another  as  already  there  in  some 
merely  factual  sense;  rather,  we  mutually  become  per- 
*sons.  We  do  it,  not  by  adapting  ourselves  to  proved 

1  See,  for  example,  Podmore's  The  Newer  Spiritualism;  cf.  Hyslop's 
criticism  in  Psychical  Research  and  Survival. 


FUTURE  LIFE  AS  PSYCHOLOGICAL  PROBLEM      293 

facts,  but  by  reaching  out  for  unprecedented  values,  and 
by  imposing  upon  ourselves  the  cost  of  seeking  them 
even  against  some  of  our  natural  impulses  and  in  the 
absence  of  certainty  as  to  the  outcome. 

We  are  thrown  back,  therefore,  into  the  process  of 
social  evolution  as  such.  We  cannot  isolate  the  question 
of  survival  from  that  of  the  issues  that  we  are  fighting 
out  in  mundane  society.  Here  we  encounter  some  sig- 
nificant considerations.  Where  once  the  world  was 
impersonal  and  loveless,  it  has  already  blossomed  into 
family  affection,  and  friendship,  and  the  beginnings  of 
justice.  Star-dust  and  protoplasm,  judged  by  their 
actual  performances,  gave  no  promise  whatever  of  a 
personal  world.  Even  when  mind  in  the  form  of  instinct  ' 
arrived,  still  there  was  no  clear  promise.  Who  could 
have  forseen  the  coming  of  self-control,  self-discipline, 
and  the  organization  of  good-will  by  mutual  consent?  - 
That  in  such  an  originally  unpromising  situation 
personal-social  life  should  arise  at  all  involves  at  least 
as  great  a  contrast  as  would  be  implied  if  our  present 
personal-social  integrations  should  finally  become  too 
firm  to  be  dissolved. 

But  it  will  be  said,  and  justly,  that  rudimentary 
psychic   attraction   and   repulsion  have  been   able   to 
develop  into  a  society  of  integrated  persons  because 
there  has  always  been  objective  sense-material,  per- 
sistent and  organically  integrated  as  the  human  body, 
to  which  these  attractions  and  repulsions  could  attach 
themselves  and  find  support.     It  is  bodied,  not  dis-'^ 
embodied  love  and  hate  that  have  produced  society.. 
\  Love,  whether  parental  or  conjugal,  is  not  easily  disen- 
V tangled  from  touch  and  other  sensations  that  stimulate 


i 


294  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

it.  Moreover,  the  discovery  of  persons  has  been  bound 
up  with  co-operative  and  antagonistic  activities  upon 
sense-material,  such  as  food,  land,  and  money,  and  it 
has  been  immensely  assisted  by  language.  The  ques- 
tion is  a  fair  one,  therefore,  whether  the  rise  of  personal 
life  under  these  conditions  can  have  any  bearing  upon 
what  may  happen  with  the  dead,  whose  environment 
we  know  nothing  about,  and  in  which  we  may  possibly  ' 
have  no  share.  Even  if  we  were  not  on  other  grounds 
distrustful  toward  mediumistic  accounts  of  what  the 
other  world  is  like,  is  it  certain  that  much  could  be 
gained  from  them  ?  What  is  needed  to  create  a  personal- 
social  situation  between  us  and  the  dead,  as  between  us 
and  the  living,  is  objective  material  upon  which  common 
work  can  be  done.  There  is,  therefore,  good  psychological 
ground  for  holding  that,  if  any  social  relations  actually 
exist  between  the  dead  and  the  living,  they  will  be- 
realized  by  the  living  only  in  and  through  social  enter-1 
prises  in  which  our  own  world  of  sense  is  being 
instrumental  to  social  purposes.  The  problem  of 
future  life,  consequently,  is  most  likely  to  center  in  such 
parts  of  our  experience  as  the  struggle  for  social  welfare 
and  righteousness  rather  than  in  mediumistic  phe- 
nomena, though  these  may  well  contribute  something 
thereto.1 

This  brings  us  to  our  second  question,  namely, 
whether  within  our  recognized  social  experience  there 

1  The  persistence  with  which  so  many  able  men  and  women  have 
pursued  psychical  researches  against  many  odds  seems  to  me  altogether 
admirable.  Whether  the  primary  interest  is  in  communion  with  the 
dead  or  not,  and  whether  the  results  establish  the  fact  of  such  communion 
or  not,  mediumship  requires  investigation,  and  so  do  the  reactions  of 
men  toward  mediumistic  phenomena. 


FUTURE  LIFE  AS  PSYCHOLOGICAL  PROBLEM      295 

is  springing  up  any  desire  for  survival  of  bodily  death.  • 
Are  the  motives  of  the  social  struggle  such  as  to  require 
survival  for  their  full  expression  and  effect  ?  The  ques- 
tion, let  it  be  noted,  is  not  whether  we  ought  to  engage 
in  enterprises  of  so  great  pith  and  moment,  but  whether 
the  valuations  that  move  us  in  our  present  enterprises 
actually  have  this  scope,  or  tend  to  acquire  it.  It  is 
certain  that  we  attach  values  to  the  future,  often  to 
that  which  we  recognize  as  having  no  precedent.  The 
future,  therefore,  has  present  functions.  As,  however, 
the  future  is  only  relative,  and  is  always  becoming  the 
past,  we  are  dealing  here  with  present  functions  of  the 
past  also,  and  the  question  whether  desire  for  survival  is 
growing  up  is  inseparable  from  the  further  question 
whether  historical  characters  are  playing  in  our  social 
struggle  any  such  part  as  involves  us  in  an  attitude  of 
fellowship  toward  them. 

The  question,  Do  men  desire  immortality?  is  am- 
biguous. It  may  mean,  Do  I  desire  an  extension  of 
consciousness  merely  as  mine  ?  or,  Do  I  desire  to  be  a 
permanent  part  of  a  permanent  society?  One  who 
answers  emphatically  Yes!  to  the  latter  question  may 
well  say  No !  to  the  former.  Now,  the  whole  conduct  of 
men  shows  that  the  personal- social  relationships  that 
they  most  value  they  do  desire  to  continue.  One  does 
not  willingly  lose  friend  A,  even  if  one  is  convinced  that  * 
an  equally  good  friend,  B,  is  ready  to  take  A's  place. 
Love  individualizes  the  object  to  which  it  attaches 
itself,  so  that  something  of  the  value  is  lost  if  the  indi- 
vidual perishes.  Moreover,  immortality,  or  something 
like  it,  is  desired  for  the  great  souls  who  have  made  the 
social  struggle  their  own — souls  like  Lincoln,  for  example. 


296  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

Nobody  is  willing  to  have  such  a  person  dissolved.  If  we 
assent  to  the  dissolution  it  is  because  we  feel  helpless 
to  prevent  it.  But  even  then  we  commemorate  our 
friend  and  hero  in  anniversaries  that  re-awaken  or 
freshly  create  a  sense  of  fellowship,  as  in  the  cause  of, 
liberty.  More  than  this,  by  these  processes  we  incor- 
porate him  into  our  communal  life  as  a  permanent  force. 
This  does  not  of  itself  imply  that  we  believe  him  im- 
mortal, or  that  we  are  trying  exactly  to  bestow  some 
sort  of  immortality  upon  him,  but  rather  that  fellowship, 
with  him  is  so  precious  that  every  trace  of  it  is  as  far  as 
possible  preserved — we  would  have  him  live  if  we  could, 
and  we  would  stay  in  his  society  if  we  could.'*  This 
process  is  carried  only  a  step  farther,  if  even  a  step,  in 
the  faith  of  several  religions  that  their  founder  remains 
after  his  death  as  the  actual,  living  leader  of  his  people. 
When  Christians  cling  passionately,  as  many  do,  to 
"the  living  Christ,"  they  bear  witness  to  this  at  least, 
that  Jesus  is  to  them  so  satisfying  a  personality  that  he 
deserves  to  live  forevermore. 

There  is  little  evidence  that  many  men  desire  im- 
mortality for  themselves  as  mere  individuals.1  Nor 
does  such  desire,  as  far  as  it  is  mere  self-assertion, 
command  particular  respect  when  it  does  exist.  It  is 
this  consideration,  apparently,  that  leads  Hoffding  to 

1  See  F.  C.  S.  Schiller,  "The  Desire  for  Immortality,"  chap,  xiii  of 
Humanism  [London,  1903].  See  also  his  "Answers  to  the  American 
Branch's  Questionnaire  Regarding  Human  Sentiment  as  to  a  Future 
Life,"  Proceedings  of  the  Society  for  Psychical  Research,  XVIII  (1903-4), 
416-53;  cf.  G.  Lowes  Dickinson,  Is  Immortality  Desirable?  Boston, 
1909.  A  number  of  articles  and  books  that  deal  with  attitudes  toward 
death  and  survival  is  listed  by  R.  S.  Ellis,  "The  Attitude  toward  Death 
and  the  Types  of  Belief  in  Immortality,"  Journal  of  Religious  Psychology, 
VII  (1915),  466-510. 


FUTURE  LIFE  AS  PSYCHOLOGICAL  PROBLEM      297 

deny  that  conservation  of  values  has  any  relation  to 
conservation  of  persons.1  But  the  case  is  distinctly  not 
the  same  when  society  perceives  that  a  social  ideal  is 
realized  in  an  individual.  In  this  case  the  finality  of 
social  values  inheres  in  the  individual  who  incarnates 
them.  Life  continued  indefinitely  is  desired  for  him, 
and  for  social  reasons. 

Men  who  are  unconvinced  of  individual  survival 
often  devise  a  surrogate  to  which  to  attach  a  feeling  of 
the  finality  of  social  value  and  a  desire  for  its  continuity. 
The  succession  of  the  generations,  stretching  on  and  on 
through  indefinite  centuries,  particularly  when  the  notion 
of  social  amelioration  is  added,  is  to  many  persons  so 
appealing  as  to  be  an  object  of  love,  though  every  indi- 
vidual in  the  whole  procession  is  thought  to  perish 
utterly.  Men  of  good  will  are  as  eager  as  this  to  have 
an  object  of  love  to  which  some  sort  of  immortality  can 
be  attributed!  Even  when  the  probable  extinction  of 
the  race  is  taken  into  account,  affection  turns  now  and 
then  to  the  cosmic  order,  glad  that  it  is  forever  to  go 
on  its  orderly  way.  In  all  these  cases  Einfiihlung  reads' 
into  a  series  or  a  law  some  of  one's  own  gladness  in  4 
individual  self-reafeation  in  society] 

These  facts  justify  the~judgment  that  when  men 
reach  a  high  level  of  social  regard  they  tend  to  desire  ' 
immortality,  if  not  directly  for  themselves,  then  for 
others  who  better  deserve  it.  But  if  so,  a  psychical 
situation  is  in  process  of  formation  that  may  well  have 
important  consequences.  In  the  first  place,  as  Schiller 
has  pointed  out,  in  some  cases  the  possibility  of  finding 
out  what  is  true  depends  upon  the  awakening  of  an 

1  Philosophy  of  Religion,  p.  259. 


298  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

interest  that  makes  investigation  seem  worth  while.1  It 
may  be  that  one  factor  in  our  ignorance  with  respect  to 
the  conservation  of  personality  is  fitfulness  and  lack 
of  whole-heartedness  in  present,  mundane  social  justice. 
Certain  it  is  that  social  discovery  is  not  independent  of 
social  devotion.  Our  age  is  called,  for  example,  the 
century  of  the  child,  because  childhood  has  been,  in  a 
real  sense,  just  discovered.  Now,  this  line  of  discovery 
took  its  start  precisely  in  devotion  to  child-welfare, 
especially  in  education.  Even  if,  therefore,  the  old 
interest  in  survival,  which  supported  and  was  supported 
by  automatic  phenomena,  should  continue  to  fade  away, 
it  by  no  means  follows  that  the  problem  of  survival  will 
grow  cold,  or  that  the  possibilities  of  discovery  are  being 
closed. 

But  not  only  may  the  growth  of  devotion  to  social 
justice  in  mundane  affairs,  with  its  upspringing  desire 
for  the  unending  life  of  the  socially  worthy,  ultimately 
open  our  eyes  to  what  we  do  not  now  see  for  lack  of 
interest,  but  it  may  also  be  a  factor  in  a  process  whereby 
immortality,  in  the  literal  sense  of  indissoluble  fellowship 
between  persons,  is  being  achieved.  Here  it  would  be 
easy  for  this  discussion  to  go  over  into  speculation  or 
guesswork,  or  into  glorification  of  the  larger  hope. 
Instead,  let  us  close  this  sketch  of  the  problem  by  a  final 
glance  at  the  actual  relation  of  developing  mental  func- 
tions to  the  structural  facts  that  partly  condition  them. 

In  the  first  place,  then,  between  the  development  of 
structure  and  that  of  function  no  exact  parallel  exists. 
Function  is  not  related  to  structure  as  the  inner  side  of  a 

1  See  article  referred  to  above  in  Proceedings  of  the  Society  for 
Psychical  Research,  XVIII  (1903-4),  416-53. 


FUTURE  LIFE  AS  PSYCHOLOGICAL  PROBLEM      299 

curve  to  its  outer  side.  This  is  already  implied  in  our 
discussion  of  the  question  whether  human  nature  re- 
mains the  same  or  whether  desires  actually  evolve.  It 
is  demonstrable  that  fresh  self-criticism  has  developed 
and  become  a  part  of  social  standards  within  a  period 
in  which  no  corresponding  evolution  of  the  human  body 
is  believed  to  have  occurred. 

Moreover,  the  integration  into  personality  and  into 
mutual  regard  for  one  another  is  different  in  kind  from 
the  evolution  of  structure.  The  latter  consists  alto- 
gether in  recombinations  of  unchanging  elements — this 
is  the  whole  point  of  view.  Structures  compared  with 
one  another  are  more  or  less  complex,  more  or  less  re- 
sistant and  persistent,  but  no  one  is  better  or  worse  than 
any  other.  But  the  evolution  of  desires,  as  we  have 
seen,  brings  forth,  not  mere  recombination  of  old  rudi- 
ments of  instinct,  but  criticism  thereof  and  even  desire 
to  have  desires.  Here  is  an  integration  that  has  no 
parallel  in  chemical  or  neural  structure,  a  kind  of  unity 
that  is  not  mere  combination  of  antecendent  and  per- 
sistent elements.  When  a  distraught  mind  "gathers 
itself  together"  it  does  not  merely  heap  up  what  is 
already  there,  which  would  yield  no  greater  unity  than  , 
was  there  before,  but  takes  a  new  interest,  forms  a  new  , 
purpose,  uses  its  organs  differently. 

So  also  social  integration  through  mutual  regard 
does  not  merely  bring  into  propinquity  certain  organisms ; 
it  is  no  mere  aggregating  of  pre-existing  elements.  If 
we  could  suppose  that  parental  instinct  is  nothing  but 
the  obverse  of  prolonged  physiological  infancy,  even 
then  there  would  remain  the  fact  that  this  instinct  has 
grown  into  affection,  "and  that  this  sort  of  regard  has 


i 


300  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

spread  out  over  other  relations  than  that  of  parent  and 
child.  Thus,  to  some  extent  at  least,  functions  go  their 
own  way.  There  is  nothing  to  show  that  a  society  of 
mutual  regard  is  a  biological  necessity  or  that  men  are 
merely  squeezed  together.  No;  in  such  a  society  the 
'cohesive  principle  is  new  values,  which  must  be  seen  from 
their  own  point  of  view  or  they  will  never  be  understood 
at  all. 

Finally,  functions  develop  themselves  by  using  the 
structures  upon  which  we  are  accustomed  to  say  that 
they  are  dependent.  Thus,  parental  affection,  though 
it  is  in  a  sense  dependent  upon  brain  development,  uses 
brain  to  build  homes,  secure  food,  build  schools,  make ' 
protective  laws;  and  in  doing  so  parental  affection  is 
itself  enlarged  and  purified.  Parallel  experiences  occur 
in  every  line  of  endeavor  in  the  interest  of  simple 
good-will. 

In  short,  there  is  at  work,  on  the  functional  side,  a 
principle  of  personal-social  integration  that  is  no  append- 
age of  the  physical  conditions  of  life,  but  a  user  of 
these  conditions  for  purposes  of  its  own.  In  this  use  of 
conditions  the  nature  of  the  conditions  is  in  part  dis- 
covered. And  the  overplus  of  desire  whereby  it  outruns 
instinct  and  recurrently  reconstructs  itself  has  again  and 
again  anticipated  knowledge  of  what  is  possible.  Pa- 
rental yearning  that  goes  a  little  beyond  the  instincts 
of  physical  welfare  has  led  on,  for  example,  to  actual 
social  integration  and  to  the  use  of  material  resources^ 
and  conditions  in  the  interest  thereof  to  a  degree  that 
could  not  have  been  known  as  possible,  except  through 
the  yearning  and  the  acts  to  which  it  led.  How  far  this 
sort  of  personal-social  integration  can  go,  and  how  far 


FUTURE  LIFE  AS  PSYCHOLOGICAL  PROBLEM      301 

physical  conditions  can  be  brought  into  this  relation  of 
use,  cannot  be  said  with  certainty  from  what  has  already 
occurred.  But  in  view  of  the  past  one  would  take  a 
hazardous  position  who  should  assert  that  society  as 
we  now  know  it  is  the  concluding  stage.  If,  as  appears 
to  be  the  case,  desire  for  still  further  integration,  which 
shall  use  death  as  a  resource  rather  than  submit  to  it 

— • 

as  a  defect  of  life — if  such  desire  is  now  arising,  there 
is  nothing  in  the  nature  of  the  case  that  can  justly 
rebuke  it. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
PRAYER 

A  history  and  psychology  of  prayer  would  be  almost 
equivalent  to  a  history  and  psychology  of  religion.  For 
religion  concerns  the  focusing  of  life's  values,  and  prayer 
is  the  vocal  expression,  or  at  least  bringing  to  mind,  of 
the  value  focus.  Because  the  focus  tends  to  take  personal 
form,  prayer  is,  typically,  talking  to  or  with  a  god.  But 
from  talking  to  a  god  the  facts  shade  off  in  every  direc- 
tion. On  the  side  of  classical  mysticism,  prayer,  some- 
times called  "  interior  prayer,"  becomes  contemplation 
or  mere  fixation  of  attention  without  speech,  and  even 
without  word  images.  In  the  opposite  direction,  that 
of  ritualism,  vocal  formulae  are  exactly  repeated,  as  in 
connection  with  the  sacrifice,  under  an  impression  that 
the  formula  has  some  sort  of  efficacy  in  itself.  The 
sacred  literature  of  Hinduism,  of  Zoroastrianism,  and 
of  Egypt  is  made  up  to  a  considerable  extent  of  such 
efficacious  words.  Effects  are  sometimes  supposed  to 
be  accumulated  or  rendered  more  certain  by  mere  repe- 
tition, as  by  the  reiteration  of  the  name  of  Allah  by 
dervishes,  by  the  use  of  the  prayer  wheel  in  India,  and 
by  the  saying  of  many  masses  for  the  dead.  A  touch  of 
the  same  thing  is  in  the  minds  of  some  Protestants,  who 
do  not  feel  that  a  prayer  is  quite  right  unless  it  ends  with 
an  "amen"  preceded  by  some  such  formula  as  "through 
Jesus  Christ  our  Lord."  If  we  go  a  step  farther  we 

302 


PRAYER  303 

come  upon  magical  spells  (however  magic  be  defined) 
and  upon  dealings  with  spirits  by  means  of  speech. 

Between  these  diverse  facts  there  is  not  merely  some 
external  similarity  of  process,  but  also  the  unity  of  a 
single  lineage.  Wherever  prayer  in  the  " proper"  sense 
begins — say,  with  the  appearance  of  gods  in  the  strict 
sense — it  springs,  as  the  gods  themselves  do,  out  of  earlier 
anthropomorphisms.  We  may  think  of  the  beginnings 
as  mere  exclamations  expressive  of  naive  emotions  that 
involve  a  sense  of  friendliness  or  of  unfriendliness  in  any 
extra-human  object  that  is  felt  to  be  important.  Neither 
here  nor  later  is  the  language  exclusively  that  of  suppli- 
cation. Any  recognition  of  the  " other"  may  be  found 
in  prayer — as  praise  and  flattery;  thanksgiving;  expres- 
sions of  fellowship  or  of  common  interests;  attempts  to 
help  the  god  in  some  vicissitude  of  his  career;  fault- 
rinding;  compulsion  of  the  god  by  the  magic  use  of  his 
name;  submission  to  the  wisdom  or  to  the  ethically 
superior  will  of  the  divinity;  finally,  enlistment  with 
the  divinity  in  a  social  enterprise. 

If  from  this  wide  range  of  facts  we  separate  for 
special  study  those  that  involve  recognition  of  a  god 
like  one's  self,  leaving  aside  both  the  mystic's  sense  of  the 
divine  as  an  impersonal  or  supra-personal  abyss,  and  the 
mechanical  use  of  speech  forms,  two  types  of  problem 
will  confront  us:  On  the  one  hand  we  shall  have  the 
problem  of  the  structure  of  prayer— how,  within  one's 
own  mind,  one  experiences  this  apparent  duality  of  self 
and  god.  On  the  other  hand,  we  shall  need  to  inquire 
into  the  functions  of  prayer — what  has  moved  men  so 
persistently  to  pray,  and  what  advantages  have  accrued 
therefrom. 


304  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

In  its  earlier  stages  there  is  nothing  to  distinguish 
prayer  structurally  from  any  other  conversation,  except 
that  the  divinity  is  ordinarily  invisible  and  inaudible. 
He  is  supposed  to  have  body  and  bodily  senses;  to  hear 
with  literal  ears;  to  smell  the  sweet  savor  of  the  sacrifice, 
and  even  to  taste  it  and  be  strengthened  by  it.  Speech 
to  him  therefore  moves  in  the  ordinary  channels.  As 
yet  no  question  arises  as  to  whether  the  worshiper  be 
not  talking  to  vacancy  or  addressing  a  mere  wish-being, 
an  ideational  construct  of  his  own.  There  is  as  yet  no 
doubt  that  prayer  has  two  termini. 

Nevertheless,  communication  from  the  god  does  not 
flow  as  easily  as  communication  to  him.  The  god  can, 
indeed,  make  himself  visible  and  audible,  and  he  does  so 
upon  occasion.  But  dreams,  visions,  and  auditions  are 
too  occasional  to  meet  the  constantly  recurring  wants  of 
the  worshiper.  Therefore  other  signs  are  looked  for; 
rather,  the  worshiper's  anxious  interest  endows  with  the 
meaning  of  response  any  unusual  or  attention-compelling 
phenomenon.  Thunder  and  lightning,  a  stormy  sea,  sud- 
den sickness,  a  rainbow,  certain  states  of  the  entrails  of 
animals — all  have  been  taken  as  divine  language.  Cast- 
ing the  lot,  too,  has  been  a  widespread  method  of,  so  to 
speak,  putting  words  into  the  god's  mouth.  Just  so, 
some  Christians  have  practiced  opening  the  Bible  and 
placing  a  finger  upon  a  text  at  random  in  the  firm 
belief  that  in  the  text  thus  indicated  a  divine  message 
will  be  found  specifically  intended  for  the  individual 
concerned.  This  devising  of  language  for  the  god 
went  so  far  that  systems  of  augury,  with  rules  for 
interpreting  what  we  regard  as  ordinary  phenomena, 
were  employed  by  the  state  for  consulting  the 


PRAYER  305 

gods,  as  at  Rome,  before  important  enterprises  were 
begun. 

By  a  parallel  process,  tangible  objects  of  many  sorts 
became  the  abode  of  divinities,  so  that  the  gods  lived 
among  men,  even  if  dumbly.  It  is  not  to  be  supposed, 
of  course,  that  early  men,  realizing  a  need  for  sensible 
support  for  their  thought  of  the  divine,  deliberately 
constructed  pictures  and  images  as  reminders,  as  we 
seek  to  possess  photographic  portraits  of  our  friends. 
Rather,  first  of  all,  savages  who  came  upon  some  object 
which,  by  reason  of  its  association  with  some  emotional 
experience,  could  be  taken  as  possessing  the  powers  that 
ultimately  constituted  the  attributes  of  divinity,  treas- 
ured it  carefully,  sometimes  as  the  very  center  of  the 
tribal  life.  If  the  object  was  similar  in  form  to  the  human 
figure,  so  much  the  better.  Natural  objects  that  resemble 
the  phallus,  for  example,  have  been  widely  preserved  and 
reverenced.  But  emotional  associations  have  endowed 
almost  all  sorts  of  things  with  some  of  the  qualities  of  a 
present  divinity.  For  example,  in  Australia,  and  in 
other  parts  of  the  world,  a  stick  of  a  certain  shape  which 
when  whirled  in  the  air  upon  a  cord  makes  a  whirring 
sound  (hence  called  the  bull-roarer)  is  treasured 
among  the  sacred  and  secret  objects.  That  the  men's 
society,  which  uses  it  in  the  annual  initiations  to 
awe  the  neophytes,  does  not  now  regard  it  as 
possessing  in  itself  any  extraordinary  virtue  does 
not  detract  from  the  significance  of  the  fact  that 
other  members  of  the  tribe  do  so  regard  it,  or  from 
the  probability  that  it  acquired  its  importance  in  the 
first  place  through  the  unaffected  emotion  that  it 
awakened. 


306  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

Under  the  primitive  theory  that  the  qualities  of  a 
thing  inhere  in  any  representation  of  it,  whether  a 
picture,  an  image,  or  even  a  name,  further  channels  were 
found  for  expression  from  the  god  to  the  worshiper. 
The  earliest  drawings  of  animals  were  probably  intended 
as  a  means  of  control  or  influence,  as  in  the  chase.  But 
some  early  art  involved  more  than  the  notion  of  success 
in  hunting  or  fishing.  The  savage  wanted  also  some  of 
the  mana  that  the  swift,  or  powerful,  or  courageous,  or 
cunning  animal  possessed.  Mana  was  obtained  in  part 
by  eating  this  animal.  But  a  pictured  or  carved  repre- 
sentation of  it,  particularly  the  totem  animal,  also  par- 
took of  its  mana  and  became  a  sacred  object.  Hence 
the  regard  for  the  totem  pole,  and  the  indignation  that 
arises  when  sacrilegious  whites  hew  it  down  and  carry- 
it  away  to  a  museum.  The  essential  anthropomorphism 
in  this  whole  procedure  came  to  clearer  expression  in 
images  and  idols  that  took  on  more  distinctly  the  human 
form.  Before  them  sacrifices  were  offered,  and  suppli- 
cations made,  as  to  a  present  divinity. 

But  the  visible  object,  which  was  at  first  supposed 
to  have  inherent  divine  attributes,  came  to  be  merely  a 
residence  of  an  invisible  god,  and  at  last  only  a  symbol 
for  him  rather  than  a  residence.  The  Catholic  of  today 
prays  before  the  crucifix,  not  to  it,  and  he  uses  pictures 
of  saints  and  of  the  stages  of  the  cross,  theoretically  at 
least,  merely  as  helps  to  concentration  of  mind.  Never- 
theless, the  sacredness  that  attaches  to  what  is  theo- 
retically only  a  symbol,  a  sacredness  that  extends  even 
to  the  building  in  which  the  symbols  are  kept  and  used, 
bears  witness  to  continuity  with  times  when  a  temple 
was  in  a  literal  sense  the  house  or  dwelling-place  of  the 
god,  where  his  people  could  talk  to  him  and  feel  his 


PRAYER  307 

nearness  as  a  sort  of  response.  The  especial  sanctity 
of  the  altar  and  of  its  utensils  in  many  Christian  churches 
traces  its  lineage  back  to  the  holy  of  holies  in  ancient 
temples  like  that  at  Jerusalem.  The  sacrosanct  char- 
acter of  this  particular  part  of  the  Jewish  temple  was 
due  to  the  presence  there  of  an  "ark"  or  chest  that 
contained,  it  is  believed,  one  or  more  small  images,  or 
even  more  primitive,  uncarved  objects,  in  which  the 
divinity  himself  was  supposed  to  be  present.  The  con- 
tinuity has  been  maintained  even  more  completely  in 
the  mass  than  in  the  altar,  for  here,  by  the  miracle  of 
transubstantiation,  bread  and  wine  become  the  flesh 
and  blood  of  the  god  himself,  before  whom  the  congre- 
gation prostrates  itself.  The  consuming  of  this  bread 
and  wine  reproduces  in  an  attenuated  form  the  totemic 
eating  of  the  god. 

All  these  may  be  taken  as  modes  of  divine  approach 
to  man  or  as  divine  responses  to  man's  approach.  Fur- 
ther responses  are  found  in  the  good  and  evil  fortunes 
that  befall  men.  Here  men  read  specific  meanings,  or 
divine  ideas,  related  to  human  conduct  or  to  prayers. 
(  At  the  lower  end  of  the  scale  we  have,  even  among 
ourselves,  the  reading  of  omens;  at  the  other  end,  the 
.  notion  of  rewards  and  punishments,  divine  discipline,  or 
divine  self -revelation.  To  the  question  why  this  calam- 
ity has  come  upon  me,  the  answer  is  given  that  it  is 
sent  as  correction  for  a  fault,  or  as  training  in  such 
virtues  as  patience  and  perseverance.  Prosperity  is  now 
and  then  frankly  taken  as  a  divine  reward  for  goodness.1 

1 A  Mormon  lady  related  to  me  that  one  night  a  destructive  frost 
visited  the  region  of  her  residence,  but  extended  only  to  the  edge  of 
the  farm  occupied  by  herself  and  her  husband.  She  was  firmly  of  the 
opinion  that  they  had  been  spared  the  frost  in  recompense  for  care 
bestowed  upon  the  husband's  aged  parents. 


308  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

As  all  Europe  up  to  recent  times  saw  in  comets  a  mode 
of  divine  speech,  so  when  the  present  war  started  some 
persons  felt  constrained  to  seek  for  the  specific  ground 
of  the  divine  displeasure  that  was  thus  made  manifest. 

When  events  turn  out  in  accord  with  the  specific 
desires  expressed  in  a  prayer,  the  notion  often  prevails 
that  the  event  is  a  direct  answer  to  the  prayer.  If  rain 
promptly  follows  a  petition  for  rain,  it  is  taken  as  a 
divine  response;  but  if  rain  does  not  follow,  people  say, 
"God  knows  better  than  we  do  what  is  good  for  us," 
whereupon  events,  whatever  they  are,  are  scrutinized 
and  sorted  in  such  a  way  that  a  divine  purpose  may  be 
read  in  them.  In  this  manner  any  section  of  the  natural 
order,  or  the  whole  of  it,  may  acquire  the  character  of 
divine  speech  in  reply  to  prayer. 

All  these  methods  of  ascertaining  the  thoughts  of 
the  god,  with  the  exception  of  dreams,  visions  and 
auditions,  involve  the  use  of  something  intermediate 
between  the  worshiper  and  his  god,  and  lead  to  a  require- 
ment of  skill  of  one  sort  or  another.  Just  as  the  primary 
requirement  of  shamanism  is  greater  facility  in  autom- 
atisms than  the  ordinary  man  possesses,  so,  when 
natural  objects  are  taken  as  signs  of  divine  presence  or 
meaning,  they  have  to  be  selected.  When  events  are 
studied  with  the  same  intent,  there  has  to  be  some  sort 
of  rule  for  scrutinizing  and  judging.  When  images  of 
the  god  are  to  be  made,  it  is,  of  course,  important  that 
they  be  made  just  right.  Here  is  added  opportunity  for 
priestly  skill.  Just  as  priests  came  to  possess  the  ritual- 
istic keys  to  the  right  approach  to  the  gods  through 
sacrifice,  so  they  became  also  the  holders  of  the  keys 
whereby  the  divine  responses  were  made.  They  spoke 


PRAYER  309 

both  to  the  divinity  and  for  him,  confessing|the  people's 
sins,  for  example,  and  also  pronouncing  absolution. 
Even  the  sacred  scriptures,  which  are  supposed  to  con- 
tain human  language  as  a  vehicle  of  divine  thoughts, 
and  are  treated  as  revelation,  need  to  be  officially  inter- 
preted. Thus  fully  do  both  worshiper  and  worshiped, 
in  sacerdotal  systems,  become  dependent  upon  the  priest 
or  upon  the  doctors  of  the  law. 

One  mode  of  apprehending  the  divine  response 
remains,  however,  that  does  not  require  any  external 
intermediary,  though  it  often  includes  considerable 
interpretation.  For  it  is  possible  to  take  the  movement 
of  one's  own  thoughts,  emotions,  and  purposes,  even 
apart  from  dreams,  visions,  and  auditions,  as  an  imme- 
diate communication  from  another  being.  Zoroastri- 
anism  held  that  the  mind  of  man  is  a  scene  of  conflict 
between  Ormuzd  and  Ahriman.  A  similar  view  has 
been  characteristic  of  Christianity.  Evil  impulses  were 
for  a  long  time  attributed  to  an  inner  solicitation  from 
Satan,  and  good  impulses  to  a  corresponding  solicitation 
from  the  Holy  Spirit.  There  even  arose  a  doctrine  that 
without  directly  imparted  divine  impulsions  man  is 
utterly  incapable  of  having  a  holy  desire.  Here,  then, 
is  a  basis  for  a  rich  development  of  supposably  divine 
language.  As  before,  the  scale  is  a  long  one.  We  have 
already  noted  the  growth  of  prophecy  from  shamanistic 
automatisms  (under  which  head  should  be  included 
tongue-speaking)  to  ethical  convictions  taken  as  the 
divine  will.  Since  ethical  convictions  can  be  a  possession 
of  common  men,  all  are  potentially  prophets.  When 
this  point  of  view  is  reached,  the  everyday  sense  of  obli- 
gation becomes  a  commanding  "voice  of  God";  self- 


310  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

condemnation  becomes  "conviction  of  sin";  the  answer 
of  a  good  conscience  becomes  a  "witness  of  the  Spirit"; 
a  firm  conviction  as  to  what  is  right  and  what  wrong 
becomes  "guidance";  and  the  steady  organization  of 
the  emotional  life  around  this  divine  ethical  center 
becomes  the  "peace  of  God." 

Here  at  last  prayer  can  take  wholly  the  form  of 
internal  conversation.  The  worshiper's  words  may  be 
vocal  or  only  mentally  spoken,  and  they  may  or  may 
not  follow  a  fixed  form;  in  any  case  the  direction  of 
thought  and  desire  Godward  is  what  makes  the  act  a 
prayer.  That  is,  the  present  meaning  of  something  to 
the  worshiper,  or  his  valuation  of  it,  is  his  prayer,  and 
the  resulting  changed  or  confirmed  meaning  of  the  same 
thing  is  the  divine  response.  The  point  is  not  that  the 
worshiper  experiences  something  strange  for  which  he 
figures  out  a  cause.  His  mind  is  not  now  engaged  in 
looking  for  causes,  nor  does  he  necessarily  think  of  God 
as  the  cause  of  the  upspringing  ethical  convictions.  Just 
as,  in  conversation  with  a  friend,  I  deal  with  meanings 
directly  as  mine  and  his  without  stopping  to  think  of  him 
as  producing  certain  of  my  sensations  and  chains  of  ideas, 
so  it  is  in  the  type  of  prayer  now  under  consideration. 

The  causal  question  might,  of  course,  arise  in  either 
case.  That  is,  by  abstracting  events  from  persons,  and 
fixing  attention  upon  events  simply  as  occurring,  one 
might  ask  what  particular  sort  of  event  is  the  uniform 
antecedent  of  the  event  in  question.  If  the  religionist 
should  ask,  "What  but  God  could  cause  such  a  change 
in  my  ideas,  emotions,  and  purposes?"  and  the  friend 
should  say,  "What  but  my  friend  could  cause  the  audi- 
tory sensations  that  I  experience?"  the  structural 


PRAYER  311 

psychologist  not  only  might  but  also  should  reply  in 
terms  of  my  physiological  conditions,  neural  processes 
and  dispositions,  instinctive  tendencies  to  action,  and 
the  ordinary  laws  of  ideation,  emotion,  and  so  on.  No 
remainder  that  is  God  will  be  found  in  the  one  case,  and 
no  remainder  that  is  my  friend  will  be  discovered  in 
the  other.  All  this  can  be  said  in  advance  of  analy- 
sis as  well  as  afterward,  for  it  is  involved  in  the  struc- 
tural method  itself.  Persons  are  not  simply  residual 
causes. 

The  specific  and  characteristic  process  by  which  the 
worshiper's  valuations  are  reorganized  or  confirmed  and 
taken  as  a  divine  response  is  that  of  suggestion.  He 
who  prays  begins  his  prayer  with  some  idea  of  God, 
generally  one  that  he  has  received  from  instruction  or 
from  current  traditions.  He  commonly  retires  to  a 
quiet  place,  or  to  a  place  having  mental  associations  of 
a  religious  cast,  in  order  to  "shut  out  the  world."  This 
beginning  of  concentration  is  followed  by  closing  the 
eyes,  which  excludes  a  mass  of  irrelevant  impressions. 
The  body  bows,  kneels,  or  assumes  some  other  posture 
that  requires  little  muscular  tension  and  that  may  favor 
extensive  relaxation.  Memory  now  provides  the  lan- 
guage of  prayer  or  of  hallowed  scripture,  or  makes  vivid 
some  earlier  experiences  of  one's  own.  The  worshiper 
represents  to  himself  his  needs,  or  the  interests  (some  of 
them  happy  ones)  that  seem  most  important,  and  he 
brings  them  into  relation  to  God  by  thinking  how  God 
regards  them.  The  presupposition  of  the  whole  pro- 
cedure is  that  God's  way  of  looking  at  the  matters  in 
question  is  the  true  and  important  one.  Around  God, 
then,  the  interests  of  the  individual  are  now  freshly 


312  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

organized.  Certain  ones  that  looked  large  before  the 
prayer  began  now  look  small  because  of  their  relation 
to  the  organizing  idea  upon  which  attention  has  focused. 
On  the  other  hand,  interests  that  express  this  organizing 
idea  gain  emotional  quality  by  this  release  from  com- 
peting, inhibiting  considerations.  To  say  that  the  will 
now  becomes  organized  toward  unity  and  that  it  acquires 
fresh  power  thereby  is  simply  to  name  another  aspect 
of  the  one  movement.  This  movement  is  ideational, 
emotional,  and  volitional  concentration,  all  in  one, 
achieved  by  fixation  of  attention  upon  the  idea  of  God. 
This,  as  far  as  structure  is  concerned,  is  simply  auto- 
suggestion. It  is  directly  in  line  with  autosuggestion  of 
health,  and  it  is  just  the  reverse  of  the  autosuggestion  of 
weakness,  which  leads  toward  sin,  and  of  the  auto- 
suggestion of  sickness,  that  disarranges  various  physio- 
logical functions. 

It  is  sometimes  said  that  faith  is  a  prerequisite  for 
success,  whether  in  prayer  or  in  autosuggestion  of  health. 
Therefore,  when  success  occurs  where  there  is  contrary 
suggestion  or  lack  of  confidence,  the  inference  is  drawn 
that  here  a  foreign  cause,  not  autosuggestion,  is  the 
explanation.  But  the  supposition  that  faith  is  pre- 
requisite is  faulty  at  the  best.  Many  a  person,  skeptical 
of  the  powers  of  a  hypnotizer,  has  submitted  himself 
as  a  subject  in  the  expectation  of  utterly  "  resisting  the 
influence,"  but  has  been  astounded  to  find  himself  a 
follower  of  the  operator's  suggestions  just  like  credulous 
subjects.  Faith-healing  and  mental-healing  cults  often 
win  adherents  by  producing  physical  relief  in  the  as  yet 
unconvinced.  At  revival  meetings  scoffers  are  some- 
times brought  to  their  knees  in  spite  of  their  unfaith. 


PRAYER  313 

Just  so,  surprising  reversals  sometimes  take  place  in 
prayer,  faith  being  there  born  or  reborn,  instead  of  being 
merely  exercised.  What  is  prerequisite  in  all  these  cases 
is  not  a  particular  expectation,  but  a  particular  direction 
of  attention.  Merely  repeating  certain  sentences  with 
attention  to  their  meaning,  but  regardless  of  their  truth 
or  falsity,  will  sometimes  result  in  marked  control  of 
further  mental  processes.  Persons  who  have  been 
troubled  with  insomnia,  or  wakefulness,  or  disturbing 
dreams,  have  been  enabled  to  secure  sound  sleep  by 
merely  relaxing  the  muscles  and  repeating  mechanically, 
without  effort  at  anything  more,  some  formula  descrip- 
tive of  what  is  desired.  The  main  point  is  that  attention 
should  fix  upon  the  appropriate  organizing  idea.  When 
this  happens  in  a  revival  meeting  one  may  find  one's  self 
unexpectedly  converted.  When  it  happens  in  prayer 
one  may  be  surprised  to  find  one's  whole  mood  changed 
from  discouragement  to  courage,  from  liking  something 
to  hating  it  (as  in  the  case  of  alcoholic  drinks,  or  tobacco), 
or  from  loneliness  to  the  feeling  of  companionship 
with  God. 

Now  and  then  a  student  imagines  that  by  sufficiently 
careful  introspection  of  his  own  prayers  he  will  be  enabled 
to  determine  once  and  for  all  whether  or  not  God  is 
there.  Apart  from  the  tendency  of  introspection  to 
prevent  the  real  spirit  of  prayer,  there  is  the  further 
difficulty  that,  in  any  case — that  is,  whether  God  is 
there  or  not — what  one  introspects  in  praying  is  mental 
content  of  one's  own  that  one  is  purposely  manipu- 
lating at  the  time.  What  introspection  reveals,  there- 
fore, is  not  God  but  one's  own  idea  of  God,  and  the 
only  causal  sequences  that  one  gets  trace  of  by  this 


314  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

method  are  sequences  between  particular  events,  not 
between  different  persons.1 

On  the  other  hand,  as  Strong  has  pointed  out,2  the 
internal  conversation  that  constitutes  prayer  is  not  an 
isolated  thing,  but  a  specific  instance  of  a  general  form 
of  mental  procedure.  Thinking  as  a  whole  has  the  same 
form.  Not  merely  does  rudimentary  thinking,  which  is 
impulsive  and  emotional,  involve  the  assumption  of 
reciprocal  attitudes  between  the  thinker  and  his  objects, 
but  even  the  more  cautious  and  controlled  sort  that 
weighs  considerations,  and  advances  from  position  to 
position,  moves  on  in  the  form  of  question  and  answer, 
proposal  and  counter  proposal,  internal  debate,  and  final 
agreement  of  the  debaters.  More  than  this;  considered 
from  the  standpoint  of  mental  structure  only,  my  inter- 
course with  my  fellows  also  is  internal  conversation,  a 
give  and  take,  both  sides  of  which  are  in  a  way  accessible 
to  my  own  introspection. 

The  tendency  of  these  considerations  is  not  neces- 
sarily toward  skeptical  subjectivism  or  solipsism  unless 
one  first  assumes  that  the  whole  reality  of  the  I-and-thou 
relation  can  be  set  forth  in  the  structural  terms  of 
particular  states  succeeding  one  another.  If  the  essence 
of  a  conversation  lies  not  in  a  particular  succession  of 
sounds  or  even  in  a  particular  succession  of  ideas,  but 
in  meanings  for  selves,  then  a  particular  movement  of 

1  A  skeptical  student  was  advised  to  determine  for  himself  whether 
or  not  there  be  a  God  by  the  experiment  of  praying.    Being  of  a  scientific 
turn  of  mind,  he  decided  to  vary  only  one  circumstance  at  a  time.    So 
he  offered  the  same  prayer  first  to  the  Christian  God  and  then  to  the 
Buddha.    His  introspective  account  of  the  effects  showed  that  in  each 
case  he  got  the  same  results,  such  as  peace  and  feeling  of  elevation. 

2  A.  L.  Strong,  The  Psychology  of  Prayer  (Chicago,  1909). 


PRAYER  315 

my  own  states  might  have  meaning  for  two  selves.  The 
second  self  for  which  the  situation  has  meaning  is  never 
found  as  an  additional  item  in  the  succession  of  states, 
any  more  than  I  myself  can  discover  myself  as  one  of  my 
own  states.  The  fact  that  prayer  is  a  conversation  both 
sides  of  which,  structurally  considered,  are  mental  states 
of  the  one  who  prays,  has  no  particular  bearing  upon 
the  question  whether  prayer  is  a  mutual  relation  between 
the  worshiper  and  God.  ^ 

This  analysis  of  the  structure  of  prayer  has  already 
touched  upon  some  of  its  functions.  It  is  a  way  of  getting 
one's  self  together,  of  mobilizing  and  concentrating  one's 
dispersed  capacities,  of  begetting  the  confidence  that 
tends  toward  victory  over  difficulties.  It  produces  in  a 
distracted  mind  the  repose  that  is  power.  It  freshens  a 
mind  deadened  by  routine.  It  reveals  new  truth,  because 
the  mind  is  made  more  elastic  and  more  capable  of  sus- 
tained attention.  Thus  does  it  remove  mountains  in  the 
individual,  and  through  him  in  the  world  beyond. 

Prayer  fulfils  this  function  of  self-renewal  largely  by 
making  one's  experience  consciously  social,  that  is, 
by  producing  a  realization  that  even  what  is  private  to 
me  is  shared  by  another.  Burdens  are  lightened  by  the 
thought  that  they  are  burdens  to  another  also,  through 
his  sympathy  with  me.  This  would  be  a  gain  even  if  I 
were  not  sure  that  this  friend  would  remove  the  burden 
from  my  shoulders.  The  values  of  prayer  in  sickness, 
distress,  and  doubt  are  by  no  means  measurable  by  the 
degree  to  which  the  primary  causes  thereof  are  made  to 
disappear.  There  is  a  real  conquest  of  trouble  even  while 
trouble  remains.  Now  and  then  the  conquest  is  so 
precious  that  one  rejoices  in  the  tribulation  itself  as  a 


3*6  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

friendly  visitation.1  It  is  sometimes  a  great  source  of 
strength,  also,  merely  to  realize  that  one  is  fully  under- 
stood. The  value  of  having  some  friend  or  helper  from 
whom  I  reserve  no  secrets  has  been  rendered  more  im- 
pressive than  ever  by  the  Freud- Jung  methods  of  reliev- 
ing mental  disorders  through  (in  part)  a  sort  of  mental 
housecleaning,  or  bringing  into  the  open  the  patient's 
hidden  distresses  and  even  his  most  intimate  and  reticent 
desires.  Into  the  psychology  of  the  healings  that  are 
brought  about  by  this  psycho-analysis  we  need  not  go, 
except  to  note  that  one  constant  factor  appears  to  be 
the  turning  of  a  private  possession  into  a  social  posses- 
sion, and  particularly  the  consciousness  that  another 
understands.  I  surmise  that  we  shall  not  be  far  from  the 
truth  here  if  we  hold  that,  as  normal  experience  has  the 
ego-alter  form,  so  the  continuing  possession  of  one's  self 
in  one's  developing  experience  requires  development  of 
this  relation.  We  may,  perhaps,  go  as  far  as  to  believe 
that  the  bottling  up  of  any  experience  as  merely  private 
is  morbid.  But,  however  this  may  be,  there  are  plenty 
j  of  occasions  when  the  road  to  poise,  freedom,  and  joy 
is  that  of  social  sharing.  Hence  the  prayer  of  confession, 

1  The  greatest  sufferer  from  physical  causes  whom  I  have  ever 
known,  the  late  Byron  Palmer,  of  Ashtabula,  Ohio,  was  not  only  one  of 
the  serenest  of  spirits,  but  also  one  of  the  most  convinced  that  God  is 
wholly  good.  During  years  of  unrelieved  pain  he  occupied  himself, 
when  writing  was  possible,  by  producing  tracts,  letters,  and  finally  a 
book,  God's  White  Throne,  to  enable  other  sufferers  to  realize,  as  he 
did,  that  there  is  not  a  speck  of  injustice  hi  God's  government  of  the 
world.  I  mention  this  case,  not  at  all  in  order  to  suggest  that  there  is 
logical  justification  for  his  attitude,  but  only  as  an  example  of  the 
remarkable  function  that  communion  with  God  may  have  in  the  deepest 
distress.  The  prayer-life  may  be  said  to  be,  in  cases  like  this,  the  organi- 
zation into  the  self  of  the  very  things  that  threaten  to  disorganize  it. 


PRAYER  317 

not  only  because  it  helps  us  to  see  ourselves  as  we  are, 
but  also  because  it  shares  our  secrets  with  another,  has 
great  value  for  organizing  the  self.  In  this  way  we  get 
relief  from  the  misjudgments  of  others,  also,  and  from 
the  mystery  that  we  are  to  ourselves,  for  we  lay  our  case, 
as  it  were,  before  a  judge  who  does  not  err.  Thus  prayer 
has  value  in  that  it  develops  the  essentially  social  form 
of  personal  self-realization. 

Moreover,  where  the  idea  of  God  has  reached  high 
ethical  elevation,  prayer  is  a  mode  of  self-assurance  of  the 
triumph  of  the  good,  with  all  the  reinforcement  that 
comes  from  such  assurance.  Confidence  in  ultimate 
goodness  may  support  itself  upon  various  thought  struc- 
tures. Many  Christians  attach  their  thought  of  God 
and  of  a  meaningful  world  to  Jesus  as  the  revealer  and 
worker-out  of  the  divine  plan.  With  him  as  leader  they 
feel  that  they  cannot  fail.  Others  attach  their  ethical 
aspirations  directly  to  God,  who  may  then  be  thought 
of  as  present  with  the  worshiper  in  these  very  aspirations. 
Others  think  the  world-purpose  in  less  sharply  personal 
terms,  as  the  evolution  of  the  cosmos  toward  a  moral 
life  that  was  not,  and  now  is  only  beginning  to  be,  but 
is  nevertheless  the  inmost  law  of  the  system.  In  the  last 
case  prayer  shades  off  from  conversation  toward  mere 
contemplation,  yet  without  failing  to  identify  the  indi- 
vidual's own  purpose  with  a  world-purpose  that  is  moving 
toward  sure  fulfilment.  In  all  these  types  of  self- 
assurance  the  individual  may  do  little  more  than  apply 
to  himself  by  suggestion  an  idea  that  is  current  in  the 
cult  with  which  he  is  familiar.  Yet  the  idea  that  is  thus 
applied  grows  in  the  process  of  appropriating  it  to  one's 
self.  It  has,  in  fact,  been  generated  in  men  in  and 


3i8  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

through  prayer.  That  is  to  say,  prayer  is  a  process  in 
which  faith  is  generated.  It  is  a  mistake  to  suppose 
that  men  assure  themselves  of  the  existence  and  of  the 
character  of  God  by  some  prayerless  method,  and  then 
merely  exercise  this  ready-made  faith  in  the  act  of 
praying.  No,  prayer  has  greater  originality  than  this. 
Alongside  of  much  traditionalism  and  vain  repetition 
there  is  also  some  launching  forth  upon  voyages  of 
exploration  and  some  discovery  of  lands  firm  enough 
to  support  men  when  they  carry  their  heaviest  burdens. 
To  complete  this  functional  view  of  prayer  we  must 
not  fail  to  secure  the  evolutionary  perspective.  If  we 
glance  at  the  remote  beginnings,  and  then  at  the  hither 
end,  of  the  evolution  of  prayer,  we  discover  that  an 
immense  change  has  taken  place.  It  is  a  correlate  of 
the  transformed  character  of  the  gods,  and  of  the 
parallel  disciplining  of  men's  valuations.  In  the  words 
of  Fosdick,  prayer  may  be  considered  as  dominant 
desire.1  But  it  is  also  a  way  of  securing  domination  over 
desire.  It  is  indeed  self-assertion;  sometimes  it  is  the 
making  of  one's  supreme  claim,  as  when  life  reaches  its 
most  tragic  crisis;  yet  it  is,  even  in  the  same  act,  sub- 
mission to  an  overself.  Here,  then,  is  our  greater 
problem  as  to  the  function  of  prayer.  It  starts  as  the 
I  assertion  of  any  desire;  it  ends  as  the  organization  of  one's 
\  own  desires  into  a  system  of  desires  recognized  as  superior 
and  then  made  one's  own. 

At  the  beginning  the  attitude  is  more  that  of  using 
the  gods  for  men's  ends;  at  the  culmination  prayer  puts 
men  at  the  service  of  God  for  the  correction  of  human 
ends,  and  for  the  attainment  of  these  corrected  ends 

1  H.  E.  Fosdick,  The  Meaning  of  Prayer  (New  York,  1915). 


PRAYER  319 

rather  than  the  initial  ones.  Like  everything  else  in 
religion,  prayer  has  several  lines  of  development.  Every 
religion  has  its  own  characteristic  ways  of  approaching 
its  divinity  or  divinities,  and  its  own  characteristic 
valuations  are  expressed  thereby.  All,  however,  as  we 
may  be  sure  from  our  whole  study  of  religious  evolution, 
reflect  the  notion  of  society  then  and  there  prevailing. 
In  the  Christian  religion,  with  its  central  emphasis  upon 
love,  prayer  tends  to  become,  wherever  the  constructive 
significance  of  love  has  not  been  submerged  by  ritualism 
or  dogmatism,  the  affirmation  of  what  may  be  called 
social  universalism  of  essentially  democratic  tendency. 
On  the  one  hand,  the  act  of  praying  now  becomes  highly 
individual.  To  be  prayed  for  by  a  priest  is  not  enough, 
nor  does  mechanical  participation  in  common  prayer 
suffice.  Whether  one  prays  with  others  or  alone,  one  is 
required  to  pray  in  one's  own  spirit,  and  to  do  it  sincerely. 
Paradoxical  as  it  may  seem,  this  throwing  of  the  indi- 
vidual back  upon  himself,  with  insistence  that  he  here 
and  now  express  his  very  self,  produces,  not  individual- 
istic desire,  but  criticism  of  desires  from  a  social  point  of 
view.  Here  self-assertion  becomes  self-overcoming  in 
and  through  acceptance  of  the  loving  will  of  the  Father 
as  one's  own.  Now,  because  the  Father  values  so 
highly  every  child  of  his,  in  prayer  to  him  I  must  adopt 
his  point  of  view  with  respect  to  my  fellows,  desiring  for 
each  of  them  full  and  joyous  self-realization.  This  sort 
of  submission — to  a  God  who  values  each  individual — 
tends  therefore  toward  the  deference  for  each  individual 
that  is  the  foundation  of  democracy.  Here  the  func- 
tion of  prayer  is  that  of  training  men  in  the  attitudes  of 
mind  that  are  fundamental  to  democratic  society. 


320  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

.1  Finally,  prayer  has  the  function  of  extending  one's 
acquaintance  with  agreeable  persons.  Here  and  there, 
at  least,  men  enjoy  God's  companionship  just  because 
of  what  he  is,  without  reference  to  benefits  that  he  may 
bestow.  This  pure  friendship  sometimes  includes  the 
joy  of  helping  the  Great  Friend.  It  is  true  that  when 
philosophy  identifies  God  with  some  abstract  absolute 
the  notion  of  helping  him  is  ruled  out.  But  religion  is 
different  from  philosophy.  As  a  rule  the  gods  of  reli- 
gion— and  not  less  the  God  of  Christianity — stand  to 
their  worshipers  in  a  relation  of  mutual  give  and  take. 
As  a  primitive  group  feeds  its  god  in  order  to  make  him 
strong,  and  rejoices  and  feasts  with  him  as  an  invisible 
guest,  so  in  Christianity  God  and  men  stand  in  mutual 
need  of  each  other.  This  must  be  so  if  God  is  love. 
Men  are  saved  by  grace  alone,  but  there  is  joy  in  heaven 
over  one  sinner  who  repents;  men  are  called  into  the 
family  of  God,  yet  only  as  men  fulfil  fraternal  relations 
with  one  another  can  God  have  the  satisfactions  that 
belong  to  a  father.  Thus  it  is  that  Christian  prayer  has 
to  be  reciprocal  as  between  God  and  the  worshiper. 
There  is  an  ancient  doctrine  that  our  prayers  are  in- 
spired in  us  by  God  himself,  so  that  he  also  prays  in  our 
prayers.  That  is  to  say,  at  this  point  each  of  the  two, 
God  and  the  worshiper,  finds  himself  by  identifying  his 
own  desire  with  that  of  the  other. 

This  is  the  culmination  of  the  self-and-s0aws  con- 
sciousness that  makes  us  persons.  The  function  of 
prayer  at  this  level,  then,  is  to  produce  (or,  as  the  case 
may  be,  sustain)  personal  life,  which  is  also  social  life, 
as  something  of  ultimate  worth. 


CHAPTER  XIX 
THE  RELIGIOUS  NATURE  OF  MAN 

There  is  a  traditional  opinion  that  man  is  natu- 
rally or  "  incur  ably"  religious.  The  sense  in  which  this 
is  true,  if  it  be  true  at  all,  may  well  be  the  closing  problem 
of  this  long  discussion  of  the  naturalness  of  religion. 
That  religion  lies  wholly  within  the  natural  psychological 
order,  just  as  regard  for  one's  family,  or  seeking  to  buy 
at  the  lowest  price,  needs  no  further  affirmation.  What 
we  still  need  to  consider,  however,  is  the  relation  of 
fundamental  to  accessory.  In  the  natural  order  some 
things  are  merely  incidental  workings  out  of  something 
that  lies  deeper.  Affection  for  offspring  is  fundamental; 
the  fashions  that  parents  adopt  for  children's  clothing 
are  superficial,  but  both  are  natural.  Is  religion  one  of 
the  deep  and  permanent  springs  of  human  life,  like 
parental  affection,  or  is  it  an  incidental  expression  of  a 
nature  that  can  satisfy  itself  in  other  ways  also  ? 

Before  answering  this  question,  two  or  three  other 
distinctions  must  be  noted.  "Man"  might  be  taken 
to  mean  either  one  of  three  things :  each  particular  man, 
or  the  species  a,s  a  whole,  or  a  type  toward  which  the 
species  is  moving.  Non-religious  individuals  here  and 
there  might  be  members  of  a  religious  race,  just  as  there 
are  non-musical  persons,  the  peculiarity  in  each  case 
being  due  to  a  particular  congenital  lack.  Again,  there 
could  be  periods  of  arrested  religiosity  in  a  race  the 

321 


322  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

general  movement  of  which  is  toward  rather  than  away 
from  religion. 

The  term  "nature"  of  man  likewise  requires  scrutiny. 
A  religious  nature  nas  been  attributed  to  man  in  each 
of  the  following  senses:  That  a  religious  intuition,  as  of 
God,  or  of  infinity,  or  of  immortality,  exists;  that  there ' 
is  a  religious  instinct;  and  that  religion  belongs  to 
man's  nature  as  a  specific  longing,  restlessness,  or  dis- 
content that  assuages  itself  by  faith,  which  it  evokes 
out  of  itself,  in  divine  beings.  There  is  a  fourth  possi- 
bility: that,  even  in  the  absence  of  any  such  special 
emotion,  instinct,  or  intuition,  there  might  be  a  sponta- 
neous, typical  mode  of  organizing  experience.  Here  we 
come  upon  the  ever-necessary  distinction  between 
structure  and  function.  If  by  "nature"  we  mean 
structure  only,  and  if  by  structure  we  mean  merely  the 
elements  into  which  a  whole  can  be  decomposed,  it 
might  well  happen  that  nothing  religious  could  be  found 
in  human  nature  although  the  most  characteristic  way  of 
organizing  the  elements  were  religious.  A  bit  of  canvas 
and  some  tubes  of  pigment  are  scarcely  aesthetic  in  their 
nature,  yet  they  may  be  organized  into  an  aesthetic 
masterpiece.1 

1  Here  an  ancient  problem,  which  is  likewise  one  of  the  freshest, 
confronts  us  if  we  wish  to  think  our  question  through.  Can  we  pack 
into  our  "elements"  enough  specific  qualities  to  account  for  all  that  the 
elements  do,  and  for  all  the  relations  that  they  ever  bear  to  one  another  ? 
Or,  must  we  have  also  an  "entelechy,"  or  a  "form,"  or  "self -guidance "  ? 
The  question  is  two-edged.  As  I  have  indicated  in  one  of  the  early 
chapters,  our  problem  as  psychologists  is  not  whether  we  shall  recognize 
a  self  in  addition  to  mental  elements.  As  well  might  we  ask  whether  we 
shall  recognize  mental  elements  in  addition  to  the  personal  selves  who 
are  carrying  on  the  present  discussion.  The  notion  of  elements  seems 
to  me  hopelessly  abstract  as  long  as  no  account  is  taken  of  that  which 
makes  the  elements  amount  to  something. 


THE  RELIGIOUS  NATURE  OF  MAN  323 

The  general  course  of  our  investigation  leads  toward 
the  following  negative  conclusions  as  to  the  supposed 
religious  nature  of  man:  (i)  There  is  no  evidence  that 
a  religious  intuition  ever  occurs.  I  use  the  term  intui- 
tion in  the  sense  of  insight  (or,  if  one  prefers,  conviction) 
arrived  at  by  an  individual  without  dependence  upon 
his  own  accumulated  experience,  and  without  depend- 
ence upon  the  history  of  his  people.  (2)  There  is  no 
religious  instinct.  That  is,  no  object  or  set  of  objects 
can  be  named  that  has  any  peculiar  power,  apart  from 
previous  experience  thereof,  to  call  out  a  specifically 
religious  reaction.  (3)  There  is  no  adequate  evidence 
that  all  individuals  experience  the  particular  longing, 
restlessness,  or  discontent  that  has  just  been  mentioned. 
On  the  contrary,  men  can  be  absorbed  by  almost  any 
interest,  from  love  to  business,  and  from  research  to 
golf.  Nor  is  it  clear  that  the  longing  here  referred  to — 
the  sense  of  a  vague  but  great  beyond,  and  of  vast 
capacities  within  one's  self  that  are  as  yet  unfilled — has 
any  better  title  to  be  called  religious,  or  to  be  taken  as 
the  focus  of  man's  religious  nature,  than  various  other 
emotions  and  active  states.  (4)  No  specific  attitude 
toward  the  divine  or  the  human  can  be  attributed  to  all 
individuals.  Attitudes  grow;  they  are  not  given  ready- 
made.  And  they  grow  in  all  directions,  out  of  every 
sort  of  instinct,  under  the  influence  of  particular  situa- 
tions, with  their  respective  satisfactions  and  annoyances. 

On  the  other  hand,  two  positive  conclusions  as  to 
a  religious  nature  grow  out  of  our  entire  study:  In  the 
first  place,  there  are  human  modes  of  organizing  expe- 
rience, so  that  there  is  in  experience,  as  ours,  a  kind  of 
predetermination  other  than  that  of  the  instincts  taken 


324  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

one  by  one.  So  much  has  already  been  said  of  the  pas- 
sage of  instinctive  attachments  into  discriminated 
values,  with  scales  of  preference,  and  with  efforts  at 
unification  and  completeness,  that  it  will  be  sufficient 
at  this  point  to  emphasize  the  fact  that  this  is,  indeed, 
a  distinctive  mode  of  human  mental  organization.  Any 
individual  who  fails  to  meet  the  conditions  of  life  in  this 
way  we  classify  as  imbecile.  It  is  true  that  we  have  here 
no  stereotyped  thing.  The  range  or  sweep  as  well  as  the 
firmness  of  organization  varies  from  individual  to  indi- 
vidual, and  the  scales  of  preference  vary  qualitatively. 
Nevertheless,  it  is  of  the  utmost  significance  that,  when- 
ever one  takes  an  absorbing  interest  in  any  particular 
thing  or  enterprise,  one  idealizes  it,  organizes  other 
interests  about  it,  and  thus  finds  one's  real  world  partly 
by  having  a  share  in  making  it  real.  This  way  of  organ- 
izing experience  in  terms  of  ideal  values  is  a  first  item 
in  the  religious  nature  of  man.  It  is  present  in  all 
normal  individuals,  and  it  is  a  type  toward  which  free- 
dom, popular  education,  and  democracy  tend. 

A  second  conclusion  is  that  nature  has  not  placed 
all  the  possible  centers  for  this  organization  upon  the 
same  level.  It  is  true  that  any  instinctive  interest  may 
become  controlling.  Yet  the  social  instincts  have  a  pre- 
eminence that  is  unmistakable.  Ethical  control,  ethical 
standards,  and  ethical  ideals,  all  springing  from  social 
instincts  primarily,  but  having  as  their  sphere  of  opera- 
tion all  the  instinctive  and  impulsive  tendencies,  have 
unique  significance  as  determinants  of  what  constitutes 
specifically  human  nature.  Here,  of  course,  we  take 
"man"  in  the  racial  rather  than  the  individual  sense. 
There  is,  indeed,  nothing  in  human  nature  that  guar- 


THE  RELIGIOUS  NATURE  OF  MAN  325 

antees  how  hearty  or  complete  shall  be  one's  social 
response.1  But  we  know  that  social  pressure  upon  indi- 
viduals will  keep  up.  That  is,  the  race  has  a  character, 
or  is  forming  one,  on  the  basis  of  regard  for  one  another. 
Hence,  even  though  an  individual  act  intensely  and 
ideally,  he  may  nevertheless  be  convicted  of  insufficient 
religiousness  if  his  ideals  have  an  individualistic  rather  \ 
than  social  focus. 

These  two  are  the  main  roots  of  the  more  obvious  i 
facts  of  religion — its  dealing  with  affairs  that  are  sacred, 
that  concern  some  important  group  interest,  and  that  f 
have  their  culminating  expression  in  fellowship  with 
a  divine  being.  To  say  that  these  roots  will  live  on 
forever,  or  that  as  long  as  they  do  live  they  will  nourish 
religious  beliefs  and  organizations  like  those  of  the  past, 
is  more  than  any  accessible  data  can  more  than  approxi- 
mately justify.  For,  after  all,  to  describe  the  nature  of 
an  evolving  species  is  to  say  how  it  has  moved,  not  how 
it  must  hereafter  move.  There  is,  nevertheless,  one — 
ray  of  light  upon  the  direction  of  future  movements  of 
humanity.  The  forming  of  scales  of  value,  and  especially 
our  social  criteria,  have  become  matters  of  deliberate 
reflection  and  choice,  and  a  beginning  has  been  made  of 
systematic  measures  for  perpetuating  them,  particularly 

1  Hence,  if  we  should  determine  the  degree  of  sociality  that  entitles 
one  to  be  called  religious,  we  could  then  set  off  certain  classes  in  the 
community,  as  Ames  has  done,  as  made  up  of  non-religious  persons. 
As  far  as  I  can  see,  however,  Ames  has  not  determined,  or  given  any 
principle  for  determining,  the  religious  threshold  that  he  employs. 
One  might  question,  also,  whether  we  have  as  yet  any  secure  way  of 
determining  degrees  of  sociality.  Certainly  many  who  are  regarded 
by  society  as  its  enemies  have  been  made  enemies  precisely  by  society's 
unsocial  ways,  and  not  seldom  it  is  the  exercise  of  social  qualities  that 
first  brings  on  a  collision  with  organized  society. 


326  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

through  educational  procedures.  It  is,  of  course, 
possible  that,  in  spite  of  all  that  education  can  do,  or 
even  through  perverted  education,  the  race  will  revert 
to  barbarism,  or  end  humanity's  career  in  a  welter  of 
mere  instinct.  But  eyes  open  to  the  problem  of  relative 
values,  and  seeking  the  permanent  organization  of 
valuational  processes,  give  hope  for  better  things.  Our 
study  justifies  the  prediction  that  human  nature  will 
go  on  building  its  ideal  personal-social  worlds,  finding 
in  them  its  life  and  its  home.  This  process  will  continue 
to  be  carried  out  toward  ideal  completeness  as  faith  in 
a  divine  order  in  which  our  life  shares.  The  thought  of 
God  may,  indeed,  undergo  yet  many  transformations, 
but  in  one  form  or  another  it  will  be  continually  renewed 
as  an  expression  of  the  depth  and  the  height  of  social 
experience  and  social  aspiration. 


ALPHABETICAL  BIBLIOGRAPHY 

NOTE. — This  bibliography  makes  no  pretense  to  any  sort  of  com- 
pleteness. In  particular,  it  contains  comparatively  few  titles  that 
concern  anthropology  on  the  one  hand,  and  systematic  theology  on  the 
other.  But  the  reader  can  easily  fill  these  gaps  by  consulting  the  list 
of  bibliographies  given  in  the  "Topical  Bibliography."  On  the  other 
hand,  I  have  attempted,  in  accordance  with  my  conviction  that  the 
psychology  of  religion  is  properly  nothing  more  than  an  expansion  of 
general  psychology  in  certain  directions,  to  present  fairly  abundant 
references  to  the  particular  psychological  discussions  that  deal  with 
the  principles  and  the  topics  that  appear  in  the  main  body  of  the  work. 

Those  whom  I  have  had  chiefly  in  mind  as  probable  users  of  the 
bibliography  are  American  students.  In  order  that  they  may  be  saved 
from  desultoriness,  and  may  get  promptly  into  the  various  specific 
problems,  I  have  added  a  set  of  topical  lists  that  refer  back,  for  the  most 
part  but  not  exclusively,  to  the  titles  here  given  in  alphabetical  order. 

I  am  under  obligation  to  certain  American  writers  who  have  pub- 
lished extensively  in  this  field — Ames,  Leuba,  Pratt,  and  Starbuck — for 
complete  lists  of  their  writings  in  the  psychology  of  religion. 

In  a  few  cases  I  have  permitted  myself  to  include  works  to  which  I 
have  not  yet  had  access. 

Abelson,  J.,  Jewish  Mysticism,  London,  1913. 

Adams,  George  P.,  "The  Interpretation  of  Religion  in  Royce  and 
Durkheim,"  Philosophical  Review,  XXV  (1916),  297-304. 

Allones,  G.  R.  de,  Psychologic  d'une  religion,  Paris,  1908. 

Ames,  Edward  Scribner,  (i)  "Theology  from  the  Standpoint  of 
Functional  Psychology,"  American  Journal  of  Theology,  X 
(1906),  219-32. 

,   (2)   "Religion    and  the  Psychical  Life,"  International 

Journal  of  Ethics,  XX  (1909),  48-62. 

j  (3)  "Non-religious  Persons,"  American  Journal  of  The- 
ology, XIII  (1909),  54I-54- 

,  (4)  "The  Psychological  Basis  of  Religion,"  The  Monist, 

XX  (1910),  242-62. 

327 


328  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

Ames,  Edward  Scribner,  (5)  The  Psychology  of  Religious  Experi- 
ence, Boston,  1910  (pp.  xii  +428).  Reviewed  by  Coe,  G.  A., 
in  American  Journal  of  Theology,  April,  1911. 

-  ,  (6)  "Social  Consciousness  and  Its  Object,"  Psychological 
Bulletin,  VIII  (1911),  407-16. 

-  ,  (7)  "Psychology  of  Religion,"  in  Monroe's  Cyclopedia  of 
Education,  V  (1913),  143-44. 

-  ,  (8)  "The  Survival  of  Asceticism  in  Education,"  American 
Physical  Education  Review,  XIX  (1914),  10-18. 

-  ,  (9)  "Prayer,"  in  University  of  Chicago  Sermons,  Chicago, 


-  ,  (10)  "Mystic  Knowledge,"  American  Journal  of  Theology, 
XIX  (1915),  250-67. 

Angell,  J.  R.,  "The  Relation  of  Structural  and  Functional  Psy- 
chology to  Philosophy,"  Philosophical  Review,  XII  (1903), 
243-71;  also  in  Decennial  Publications  of  the  University  of 
Chicago,  1903. 

Aschkenasy,  H.,  "Grundlinien  zu  einer  Phanomenologie  der 
Mystik,"  Zeitschrift  fur  Philosophic  und  philosophische  Kritik, 
CXLII  (1911),  145-64;  CXLIV  (1911),  146-64.  . 

Aston,  W.  G.,  "  Fetishism,"  in  Encyclopedia  of  Religion  and  Ethics. 

Baldwin,  J.  M.,  Social  and  Ethical  Interpretations  in  Mental 
Development,  New  York,  1897;  see  especially  pp.  394  ff., 

434  ff. 
Le  Baron,  A.,  "A  Case  of  Psychic  Automatism  including  Speaking 

with  Tongues,"  Proceedings  Society  for  Psychical  Research, 

XII,  277-97. 
Bergson,  H.,  (i)  see  Miller,  L.  H. 

-  ,  (2)  Presidential  Address  before  the  English  Society  for 
Psychical  Research,  Proceedings,  XXVII  (1913),  157-75. 

Berguer,  G.,  Psychologic  religieuse:  Revue  et  Bibliographic  generates, 

Geneve,  1914. 
Billia,  L.  M.,  "On  the  Problem  and  Method  of  Psychology  of 

Religion:  Psychology  More  than  a  Science,"  The  Monist,  XX 

(1910),  135-39- 

Bois,  H.,  Le  Reveil  au  pays  de  Galles,  Toulouse,  Fischbacker,  1906. 
Le  Bon,  G.,  The  Crowd,  London,  1806,  Book  I,  chap,  iv,  "A 

Religious  Shape  Assumed  by  All  the  Convictions  of  Crowds." 


ALPHABETICAL  BIBLIOGRAPHY  329 

Boodin,  J.  E.,  (i)  "The  Existence  of  Social  Minds,"  American 
Journal  of  Sociology,  XIX  (1913),  1-47. 
— ,  (2)  "Individual  and  Social  Minds, "  Journal  of  Philosophy, 
X  (1913),  160-81. 

Boutroux,  E.,  The  Beyond  That  Is  Within,  London,  1912. 

Bradley,  F.  H.,  Essays  on  Truth  and  Reality,  Oxford,  1914,  chap, 
xiv,  "What  Is  the  Real  Julius  Caesar?";  chap,  xv,  "On 
God  and  the  Absolute";  see  also,  on  the  reality  and  the 
personality  of  God,  pp.  448-51;  on  immortality,  pp.  438  ff., 
451  ff.,  467  f. 

Buckham,  J.  W.,  (i)  Personality  and  the  Christian  Ideal,  Boston, 
1909. 
— ,  (2)  Mysticism  and  Modern  Life,  New  York,  1915. 

Burr,  A.  R.,  Religious  Confessions  and  Confessants,  Boston,  1914. 

Caldecott,  A.,  "The  Religious  Sentiment:  An  Inductive  Inquiry," 
Proceedings  of  the  Aristotelian  Society,  N.S.,  VIII,  78-94, 
London,  Williams  &  Norgate,  1908.  Also  separately 
printed. 

Calkins,  M.  W.,  (i)  "Psychology  as  Science  of  Selves,"  Philo- 
sophical Review,  IX  (1000),  490-501. 

,  (2)  Introduction  to  Psychology,  New  York,  1901,  especially 

chap.  xxii. 

,  (3)  "Reconciliation  between  Structural  and  Functional 

Psychology,"  Psychological  Review,  XIII  (1006),  61-80. 

— ,  (4)  "Psychology  as  Science  of  Self":  I.  "Is  the  Self  Body 

or  Has  It  Body?"  Journal  of  Philosophy,  V  (1908),  12-20; 

II.  "The  Nature  of  the  Self,"  ibid.,  V  (1908),  64-68;  III.  "The 

Description  of  Consciousness,"  ibid.,  V  (1908),  113-22. 

— ,  (5)  "Ultimate  Hypotheses  in  Psychology,"  ibid.,  V  (1908), 

634-36. 

,  (6)  "The  Nature  of  Prayer,"  Harvard  Theological  Review, 

IV  (1911),  489-500- 
,  (7)    "Defective   Logic  hi  the  Discussion  of  Religious 

Experience,"  Journal  of  Philosophy,  VIII  (1911),  606-8. 

— ,  (8)  "The  Self  in  Scientific  Psychology,"  American  Journal 

of  Psychology,  XXVI  (1915),  495-524- 
Coe,  George  A.,  (i)  The  Spiritual  Life,  New  York,  1900. 
,  (2)  The  Religion  of  a  Mature  Mind,  New  York,  1902. 


330  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

Coe,  George  A.,  (3)  "Sources  of  the  Mystical  Revelation,"  Hibbert 

Journal,  VI  (1908),  359-72. 
,  (4)  "Religious  Value,"  Journal  of  Philosophy,  V  (1908), 

253-56. 
,  (5)    "What    Does  Modern  Psychology  Permit   Us  to 

Believe  in  Respect  to  Regeneration?"  American  Journal  of 

Theology,  XII  (1908),  353-68. 
,  (6)  "The  Mystical  as  a  Psychological  Concept,"  Journal 

of  Philosophy,  VI  (1909),  197-202. 
,  (7)  "Religion  and  the  Subconscious,"  American  Journal 

of  Theology,  XIII  (1909),  337~4Q. 
,  (8)  "The  Origin  and  Nature  of  Children's  Faith  in  God," 

ibid.,  XVIII  (1914),  169-90. 
,  (9)  "On  Having  Friends:    A  Study  of  Social  Values," 

Journal  of  Philosophy,  XII  (1915),  155-61. 
,  (10)  "A  Proposed  Classification  of  Mental  Functions," 


Psychological  Review,  XXII  (1915),  87-98. 
,  (n)  Articles  "Adolescence,"  "Childhood,"  "Growth," 

"Infancy,"    "Morbidness,"    in   Hastings'    Encyclopedia   of 

Religion  and  Ethics. 
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Bulletin,  XII  (1915),  459-62. 

Colvin,  S.  S.,  "The  Psychological  Necessity  for  Religion,"  Ameri- 
can Journal  of  Psychology,  XII  (1902),  80-87. 
Conybeare,  F.  C.,  "Purification,"  Encyclopaedia  Britannica. 
Cooley,  G.  H.,  Human  Nature  and  the  Social  Order,  1902. 
Creighton,  J.  E.,  "The  Standpoint  of  Psychology,"  Philosophical 

Review,  XXIII  (1914),  159-75. 
Cutten,  G.  B.,  (i)  The  Psychological  Phenomena  of  Christianity, 

New  York,  1908. 
,  (2)  Three  Thousand  Years  of  Mental  Healing,  New  York, 

1911. 
Dallenbach,  K.  M.,  "History  of  the  Term  Function,"  American 

Journal  of  Psychology,  October,  1915. 
Davenport,  F.  M.,  Primitive  Traits  in  Religious  Revivals,  New 

York,  1005. 
Davies,  A.  E.,  "The  Genesis  of  Ideals,"  Journal  of  Philosophy,  III 

(1906). 


ALPHABETICAL  BIBI^JOGRAPHY  331 

Dawson,  G.  E.,  "Suggestions  towards  an  Inductive  Study  of  the 
Religious  Consciousness,"  American  Journal  of  Religious 
Psychology,  VI  (1913),  5°~59- 

Delacroix,  H.,  Etudes  d'histoire  et  de  psychologic  du  mysticisme, 
Paris,  1908. 

Dewey,  John,  Influence  of  Darwin  on  Philosophy,  New  York,  1910; 
see  chapter  on  "Beliefs  and  Existences." 

Dike,  S.  W.,  "A  Study  of  New  England  Revivals,"  American 
Journal  of  Sociology,  XV  (1909),  361-78. 

Draghicesco,  D.,  "Essai  sur  Interpretation  sociologique  des 
phenomenes  conscients,"  Revue  philosophique,  1914,  pp. 
225-50  and  305-44. 

Dumas,  G.,  Psychologic  de  deux  messies  positivistes:  Saint  Simon 
et  Auguste  Comte,  Paris,  Alcan,  1905. 

Dunlap,  K.,  "Psychic  Research  and  Immortality,"  American 
Journal  of  Religious  Psychology,  V  (1912),  195-201. 

Durkheim,  E.,  Les  Formes  elementaires  de  la  vie  religieuse,  Paris, 
1912;  English  tr.  by  Swain,  J.  W.,  The  Elementary  Forms 
of  the  Religious  Life,  London,  1915.  Reviews:  King, 
Philosophical  Review,  July,  1913;  Lalande,  A.,  ibid.,  July, 
I9I3>  PP-  357-74>  Leuba,  J.  H.,  Revue  philosophique  (1913), 
PP-  337-57;  Wallis,  W.  D.,  Journal  of  Religious  Psychology, 
VII  (1914),  252-67;  Adams,  G.  P.,  Philosophical  Review, 
XXV  (1916),  297-304. 

Ellwood,  C.  A.,  "The  Social  Function  of  Religion,"  American 
Journal  of  Sociology,  XIX  (1913),  289-308. 

Everett,  Charles  C.,  The  Psychological  Elements  of  Religious  Faith, 
New  York,  1902. 

Ewer,  B.  C.,  "Veridical  Aspects  of  Mystical  Experience,"  Ameri- 
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Faber,  Hermann,  Das  Wesen  der  Religionspsychologie  und  ihre 
Bedeutungfiir  die  Dogmatik,  Tiibingen,  1913. 

Farnell,  F.  R.,  Evolution  of  Religion,  New  York,  1905. 

Fere,  Ch.,  La  Pathologic  des  emotions,  Paris,  1892. 

Fite,  W.,  "The  Motive  of  Individualism  in  Religion,"  Harvard 
Theological  Review,  VII  (1914),  478-96. 

Fleming,  W.  K.,  Mysticism  in  Christianity,  New  York,  1913. 

Fletcher,  M.  S.,  The  Psychology  of  the  New  Testament,  London,i9i2. 


332  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

Flournoy,  Th.,  (i)  Le  Genie  religieux,  Association  Chretienne 

Suisse  d'Etudiants,  1910  (pamphlet). 
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de  Psychologic,  II  (1903),  37-41. 
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336  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

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338  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

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Rogers,  A.  K.,  (i)  The  Religious  Conception  of  the  World,  New 
York,  1907. 

-  ,  (2)  "Relation  of  the  Science  of  Religion  to  the  Truth  of 
Religious  Belief,"  Journal  of  Philosophy,  I  (1904),  113-18. 

—  ,  (3)  "The  Determination  of  Human  Ends,"  Philosophical 
Review,  XXIV  (1915),  583-602. 

Royce,  J.,  (i)  Studies  in  Good  and  Evil,  New  York,  1898. 

—  ,  (2)  The  World  and  the  Individual,  2  vols.,  New  York, 
1900-1901,  Vol.  II,  pp.  xiiff.  and  Lecture  VI,  "The  Human 
Self." 

-  ,  (3)  Outlines  of  Psychology,  New  York,  1906. 

-  ,  (4)  The  Sources  of  Religious  Insight,  New  York,  1912. 

—  ,  (5)    The  Problem  of  Christianity,  2   vols.,  New  York, 


-  ,  (6)  "George   Fox  as    a   Mystic,"    Harvard    Theological 
Review,  VI  (1913),  3I~5°- 

Ruckmich,  C.  A.,  "The  Use  of  the  Term  Function  in  English 

Text-Books  of  Psychology,"  American  Journal  of  Psychology, 

XXIV  (1913). 
Rumbull,  E.  A.,  "The  Changing  Content  of  Sin,"  Open  Court, 

January,  1908. 
Runze,  G.,  Die  Psychologic  des  Unsterblichkeitsglaubens  und  der 

Unsterblichkeitsleugnung,  Berlin,  1894. 
Russell,  Bertrand,  (i)  "The  Free  Man's  Worship,"  Philosophical 

Essays,  1910. 

—  ,  (2)  "The   Essence   of   Religion,"   Hibbert  Journal,   XI 
(1912),  46-62. 

—  ,  (3)  "Mysticism  and  Logic,"  ibid.,  XII  (1914),  780-803. 
Cf.  Pringle-Pattison,  A.  S.,  "The  Free  Man's  Worship;  Con- 
sideration of  Mr.  Bertrand  Russell's  Views  on  Religion," 
ibid.,  XII  (1913),  47-63- 

Ruyssen,  Th.,  "Le  Probleme  de  la  personnalite  dans  la  psychologic 
religieuse:  A  propos  de  quelques  travaux  recents,"  Annales 
psychologiques,  XVIII  (1912),  460-77. 

Schiller,  F.  C.  S.,  (i)  Humanism,  London,  1903,  chap,  xii,  "The 
Desire  for  Immortality." 

-  ,  (2)  Studies  in  Humanism,  London,  1907,  chap,  xv,  "Gods 
and  Priests";  chap,  xvi,  "Faith,  Reason,  and  Religion." 


342  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

Schiller,  F.  C.  S.,  (3)  "Philosophy,  Science,  and  Psychic  Research," 

Proceedings  Society  for  Psychical  Research,  XXVII  (1914), 

191-220  (contains  discussion  of  "soul"). 
Schliiter,    J.,    " Religionspsychologische    Biographienforschung," 

Archiv  fur  Religionspsychologie,  I  (1914),  202-10. 
Seashore,  C.  E.,  "The  Play  Impulse  and  Attitude  in  Religion," 

American  Journal  of  Theology,  October,  1910. 
Segond,  J.,  La  Priere:  Essai  de  psychologie  religieuse,  Paris,  1911. 
Sharpe,  A.  B.,  Mysticism;  Its  True  Nature  and  Value,  London, 

Sands  &  Co. 

Sidgwick,  Mrs.  Henry,  "Spiritualism,"  Encyclopaedia  Britannica. 
Smith,  H.  P.,  "The  Hebrew  View  of  Sin,"  American  Journal  of 

Theology,  October,  1911. 

Smith,  W.  R.,  and  others,  "Priest,"  Encyclopaedia  Britannica. 
Stahlin,   W.,    (i)    "Die   Verwendung    von   Fragebogen   in   der 

Religionspsychologie,"  Zeitschrift  fur  Religionspsychologie,  V 

(1912),  394-408. 
,  (2)  "Der  Almanach  des  Coenobium,"  ibid.,  VI  (1913), 

I45-54- 

,  (3)  "  Experimentelle  Untersuchungen  iiber  Sprach- 

psychologie  und  Religionspsychologie,"  Archiv  fur  Religions- 
psychologic,  I  (1914),  H7-94. 

Starbuck,  Edwin  D.,  (i)  The  Psychology  of  Religion,  London, 
1899. 

,  (2)  "The  Feelings  and  Their  Place  in  Religion,"  American 

Journal  of  Religious  Psychology,  I  (1904),  168-86. 

>  (3)  "The  Foundations  of  Religion  and  Morality,"  Pro- 
ceedings of  the  Religious  Education  Association,  Boston,  1905, 
pp.  245-50. 

,  (4)  "Original  Sin,"  Homiletic  Review,  December,  1906. 

,  (5)  "As  a  Man  Thinketh  in  His  Heart,"  ibid.,  January, 

1908. 

,  (6)  "Moral  Education  in  the  Schools,"  an  essay  in  a 

volume  published  by  Ginn  &  Co. 

,  (7)  Religious  Education  in  the  New  World-View,  Beacon 

Press,  Boston  (pamphlet). 

,  (8)  "The  Child  Mind  and  Child  Religion,"  a  series  of 

articles  in  the  Biblical  World,  beginning  January,  1909. 


ALPHABETICAL  BIBLIOGRAPHY  343 

Starbuck,  Edwin  D.,  (9)  "The  Play  Instinct  in  Religion,"  Homi- 

letic  Review,  October,  1909. 
,  (10)  "Unconscious    Education,"    Kindergarten   Review, 

November,  1910. 

— ,  (n)  Articles   on   "Backsliding,"    "Climate,"  "Double- 

mindedness,"  "Doubt,"  and  "Female  Principle,"  in  Hastings' 

Encyclopedia  of  Religion  and  Ethics. 
,  (12)  "Development    of    the    Psychology    of    Religion," 

Religious  Education,  VIII  (1913),  426-29. 

— ,  (13)  "The  Psychology  of  Conversion,"  Expository  Times, 


February,  1914. 

Reviews  of  Starbuck:  Stahlin,  W.,  Archiv  fiir  gesammte 
Psychologie,  XVIII  (1910),  1-9;  Faber,  H.,  Das  Wesen  der 
Religionspsychologie,  Tubingen,  1913,  pp.  12-25;  Leuba, 
J.  H.,  Psychological  Review,  VII,  509  ff.;  Coe,  G.  A.,  Phi- 
losophical Review,  September,  1900. 

Stratton,  G.  M.,  Psychology  of  the  Religious  Life,  London,  1911. 
Reviews  of  Stratton:  Galloway,  G.,  Mind,  1913,  pp.  131-34; 
Coe,  G.  A.,  Philosophical  Review,  November,  1912;  Leuba, 
J.  H.,  International  Journal  of  Ethics,  XXIII  (1912-13), 
88  ff. 

Strong,  A.  L.,  (i)  The  Psychology  of  Prayer,  The  University  of 
Chicago  Press,  1909. 

— ,  (2)  "The  Relation  of  the  Subconscious  to  Prayer," 
American  Journal  of  Religious  Psychology  and  Education,  I 
(1006),  129-42. 

Tawney,  G.  A.,  (i)  "The  Period  of  Conversion,"  Psychological 
Review,  XI,  210-16. 

— ,  (2)  "The  Nature  of  Crowds,"  Psychological  Bulletin, 
October  15,  1905. 

Van  Teslaar,  J.  G.,  "The  Problem  and  the  Present  Status  of 
Religious  Psychology,"  Journal  of  Religious  Psychology,  VII 
(November,  1914),  214-36. 

Thomas,  N.  W.,  "Sacrifice,"  in  Encyclopaedia  Britannica. 

Thorndike,  E.  L.,  (i)  Educational  Psychology,  New  York,  1903, 
chap,  xiv,  "Broader  Studies  of  Human  Nature." 
— ,  (2)  Educational  Psychology,  Vol.  I,  "The  Original  Natur- 
of  Man,"  New  York,  1913. 


344  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

Trotter,  W.,  Instincts  of  the  Herd  in  Peace  and  War,  New  York, 

1916. 
Tufts,  J.  H.,  "Ethical  Value,"  Journal  of  Philosophy,  V  (1908), 

517-22. 
Underbill,  Evelyn,  (i)  Mysticism:    A  Study  in  the  Nature  and 

Development  of  Man's  Spiritual  Consciousness,  3d  ed.,  London, 

1912.    Review  by  Taylor,  A.  E.,  Mind,  XXII  (1913),  122-30. 
,  (2)  The  Mystic  Way:   A  Psychological  Study  in  Christian 

Origins,  London,  1913. 
,  (3)  Practical  Mysticism:  A  Little  Book  for  Normal  People, 

London,  1914. 

Urban,  W.  M.,  Valuation;  Its  Nature  and  Laws,  London,  1009. 
Vorbrodt,   G.,   (i)    "Zur  Religionspsychologie :    Prinzipien  und 

Pathologic,"  Theologische  Studien  und  Kritiken,  1906,  p.  237. 
,   (2)  Zur     theologischen     Religionspsychologie,     Leipzig, 

Deichert,  1913. 

Wallas,  G.,  The  Great  Society,  New  York,  1914. 
Watson,  J.  B.,  "Psychology  as  the  Behaviorist  Views  It,"  Psy- 
chological Review,  XX  (1913),  158-77. 
Whitehouse,   O.   C.,   and  others,   "Prophet,"  in  Encyclopaedia 

Britannica. 
Witmer,  L.,  "Mental  Healing  and  the  Emmanuel  Movement," 

Psychological  Clinic,  II,  Nos.  7-9. 
Wobbermin,  G.,  (i)  Zum  Streit  um  die  Religionspsychologie,  Berlin, 

Schomberg,  1913. 
,  (2)    Die   religionspsychologische    Methode    in    Religions- 

wissenschaft  und  Theologie  (Systematische  Theologie  nach 

religionspsychologischer   Methode),   Bd.    I,   Leipzig,    1913. 

Review  by  Stahlen,  W.,  in  Archiv  fur  Religionspsychologie,  I 

(1914),  279-98. 

Woods,  J.  H.,  (i)  The  Value  of  Religious  Facts,  New  York,  1899. 
,   (2)   The  Practice  and  Science  of  Religion,  New  York, 

1006. 

Worcester  and  others,  Religion  and  Medicine,  New  York,  1008. 
Wright,  W.  K.,  (i)  "A  Psychological  Definition  of  Religion," 

American  Journal  of  Theology,  XVI  (1912),  385-409. 
,  (2)  "The  Evolution  of  Values   from   Instincts,"  Philo- 
sophical Review,  XXIV  (1915),  165-83. 


ALPHABETICAL  BIBLIOGRAPHY  345 

Wundt,  W.,  (i)  Volkerpsychologie,  2.  Band:  Mythus  und  Religion, 
Leipzig,  1906;  revised  edition  in  3  vols.,  1910-15.  Re- 
viewed by  Gardiner,  H.  N.,  Philosophical  Review  (1908), 
pp.  3i6ff.;  Thieme,  K.,  Zeitschrift  fur  Religionspsychologie, 
IV  (1910),  145-61;  Mead,  G.  H.,  Psychological  Bulletin,  III, 
399  ff.;  Faber,  H.,  Das  Wesen  der  Religionspsychologie, 
Tubingen,  1913,  pp.  33~55- 

— ,  (2)  Probleme  der  Volkerpsychologie,  Leipzig,  1911. 

,  (3)  Elemente  der  Volkerpsychologie,  Leipzig,  1913. 


TOPICAL  BIBLIOGRAPHY 

[Numbers  in  parentheses  refer  back  to  the  Alphabetical  Bibliography.] 

BIBLIOGRAPHIES 
Lists  of  Current  Psychological  Publications 

Psychological  Bulletin  (monthly),  and 

Psychological  Index  (annual) ,  both  published  by  the  Psychological 
Review  Co.,  Princeton,  New  Jersey. 

Bibliographies  of  the  Psychology  of  Religion 

Berguer,  G.,  Psychologic  religieuse;  Revue  et  bibliographies  generates, 

Geneve,  Kiindig,  1914. 

Contains  the  only  extended  general  bibliography  of  this 
subject.    It  is  preceded  by  brief  analyses  of  problems  and  points 
of  view,  with  references  to  the  writers  who  represent  each  point 
of  view. 
Faber,  H.,  Das  Wesen  der  Religions  psychologie,  Tubingen,  1913. 

Gives  a  list  of  writings,  chiefly  German.  This  list  will  be  found 
especially  useful  by  anyone  who  desires  to  work  up  the  movement 
among  German  theologians  to  secure  a  psychological  basis  for 
systematic  theology.  To  the  titles  listed  by  Faber  should  be 
added  works  by  Vorbrodt  and  Wobbermin  published  in  1913  (see 
Alphabetical  Bibliography). 

Bibliographies  of  Primitive  Religion 

Marett,  R.  R.,  "Primitive  Religion,"  Encyclopaedia  Britannica, 

XXIII,  67. 
King,  I.,   The  Development  of  Religion,  New  York,   1910,   pp. 

355-61- 

Note  also  sources  and  authorities  given  in  cyclopedia  articles 
by  Aston,  Lang,  Marett,  Thomas,  W.  R.  Smith,  and  Whitehouse 
(see  Alphabetical  Bibliography). 

346 


TOPICAL  BIBLIOGRAPHY 


347 


Religious  Autobiographies 

Burr,  A.  R.,  Religious  Confessions  and  Confessants,  Boston,  1914. 
Gives  a  long  list. 

Bibliography  of  Social  Psychology 
Howard,  G.  E.,  Social  Psychology;  A  Syllabus  and  a  Bibliography, 

Lincoln,  Nebraska,  1910. 

Consult  also  Thomas,  W.  I.,  Source  Book  for  Social  Origins, 
Chicago,  1909. 

Bibliography  of  Thirty  Works  on  the  Psychology  of  Religion  by 

Catholic  Writers 

Lindworsky,  J.,  "Religionspsychologische  Arbeiten  katholischer 
Autoren,"  Archiv  fur  Religionspsychologie,  I  (1914),  228-56. 

Bibliography  of  the  Psychology  and  Metaphysics  of  Value 
Dashiell,  J.  F.,  "  An  Introductory  Bibliography  of  Value,"  Journal 

of  Philosophy,  X  (1913),  472-76. 

To  this  list  should  be  added  the  following  more  recent  publi- 
cations: 

Brown,  H.  C.,  "Value  and  Potentiality,"  ibid.,  XI  (1914),  29-37. 
Kallen,  H.  M.,  "Value  and  Existence  in  Art  and  in  Religion," 

ibid.,  XI  (1914),  264-76. 
Moore,  J.  S.,  "The  System  of  Transcendental  Values,"  ibid.,  XI 

(1914),  244-48. 
Perry,  R.  B.,  "Definition  of  Value;  ibid.,  XI  (1914),  141-62. 

— ,  "Religious  Values,"  American  Journal  of  Theology,  XIX 

(1915),  1-16. 
Sheldon,  W.  H.,  "Empirical  Definition  of  Value,"  Journal  of 

Philosophy,  XI  (1914),  113-24. 

Wright,  W.  K.,  "Evolution  of  Values  from  Instincts,"  Philosophi- 
cal Review,  XXIV  (1915),  165-83. 

See  also  Berguer,  G.,  La  Notion  de  Valeur,  Geneve,  1908. 

MAGAZINES  DEVOTED  PRIMARILY  TO  THE  PSYCHOLOGY 

OF  RELIGION 

American  Journal  of  Religious  Psychology  and  Education,  founded 
in  1904  by  G.  Stanley  Hall,  succeeded  1912  by 


348  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

Journal  of  Religious  Psychology,  Including  its  Anthropological  and 

Sociological  Aspects,  Worcester,   Massachusetts  (Quarterly, 

$3.00  a  year).    Editor,  G.  Stanley  Hall. 
Z&itschrift  fur  Religionspsychologie,  Leipzig,  Barth;  founded  1908, 

discontinued  after  six  years. 
Archvo  fur  Religionspsychologie,   Tubingen,  Mohr   (12   marks  a 

volume);   founded  1914;   only  one  volume  issued  thus  far. 

Editor-in-chief,  Dr.  W.  Stahlin. 

CYCLOPEDIAS  ESPECIALLY  VALUABLE  FOR  THE  PSYCHOLOGY 
OF  RELIGION 

For  definition  of  psychological  terms,   consult  Baldwin's 
Dictionary  of  Philosophy  and  Psychology. 

Two  cyclopedias,  the  Encyclopaedia  Britannica  and  Hastings' 
Encyclopedia  of  Religion  and  Ethics,  are  rich  in  anthropological 
material.  The  student  is  advised  to  consult,  in  addition  to  the 
bibliographies  of  primitive  religion  already  mentioned,  the  Index 
of  the  Britannica.  The  last  volume  of  Hastings  published  to  the 
present  date  is  Vol.  VIII.  The  student  should  be  on  the  lookout 
for  the  new  volumes  as  they  appear.  This  cyclopedia  contains  a 
vast  aggregation  of  material  by  writers  of  many  sorts.  It  is  not 
organized  on  the  basis  of  any  scientific  classification,  but  rather 
on  that  of  popular  terminology,  as  "Charms"  and  "Images  and 
Idols."  Many  articles  have  subdivisions  that  follow  the  religious 
divisions  of  mankind.  Thus,  under  "Magic,"  an  introductory 
article  of  general  character  by  Marett  is  followed  by  fifteen  others 
by  as  many  writers  on  magic  in  the  different  religions.  See,  for 
other  examples,  " Death  and  the  Disposal  of  the  Dead,"  "Human 
Sacrifice,"  and  "Life  and  Death." 

At  many  points  the  student  will  find  valuable  historical 
material  in  the  various  dictionaries  of  the  Bible,  the  Jewish 
Encyclopedia,  and  the  Catholic  Encyclopedia. 

GENERAL  POINTS  OF  VIEW  IN  PSYCHOLOGY 

For  a  critical  exposition  of  the  notion  of  functional  psychology, 
see  Angell. 

On  the  history  and  use  of  "function"  in  psychology,  see 
Dallenbach;  Ruchmich. 


TOPICAL  BIBLIOGRAPHY 


349 


On  self-psychology,  see  Calkins  (i,  3,  4,  5,  8). 

On  the  voluntaristic,  dynamic  point  of  view,  including  relation 
of  mind  to  evolution,  see  Judd  (i,  2,  3). 

On  behaviorism,  see  Watson. 

For  a  comparison  of  structuralism,  functionalism,  and  be- 
haviorism, see  Creighton. 

On  the  mind-body  relation,  see  McDougall  (2) 

HISTORY  OF  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  or  RELIGION 

Ames  (5,  chap,  i);  Pratt  (3,  4);  Rademacher;  Berguer; 
Faber;  Wobbermin  (2,  chap.  xv). 

METHODS  AND  PRINCIPLES  IN  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

On  the  use  of  question  circulars,  see  Thorndike  (i);  Ribot; 
Urban  (in  Philosophical  Review,  XIV,  652*!.);  Stahlin  (i,  2); 
Haynes;  see  also  reviews  of  Starbuck. 

On  the  analysis  of  religious  biographies  and  autobiographies, 
see  Burr;  Schliiter. 

On  anthropology  as  psychology  of  religion,  see  Wundt  (2), 
and  his  German  critics,  for  whom  consult  Faber,  Wobbermin 
(i,  2),  and  Aschkenasy. 

On  experimental  methods  in  the  psychology  of  religion,  see 
May  (Journal  of  Philosophy,  XII  [1915],  691);  Stahlin  (3). 

On  conditions  that  must  be  met  if  psychology  of  religion  is 
to  be  science,  see  Flournoy  (2);  Leuba  (3,  9,  n);  Hoffding  (3); 
King  (4);  Woods  (i,  2);  Billia. 

On  functionalism  in  the  psychology  of  religion,  see  King  (9, 
chap,  i);  Ames  (5,  chap,  ii);  Calkins  (7). 

GENERAL  WORKS  ON  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

No  work  even  approximately  covers  the  enormous  field. 
Each  author  selects  an  area  or  a  set  of  problems,  though  generally 
with  the  intention  of  securing  insight  into  the  general  nature  of 
religion.  In  addition  to  the  characterization  of  recent  works  by 
Ames,  Durkheim,  Hoffding,  James,  King,  Leuba,  Pratt,  Starbuck, 
Stratton,  and  Wundt  already  given  in  chap,  i,  it  will  be  sufficient 
to  say  that,  for  a  systematic  marshaling  of  many  sorts  of  data, 
Ames  (5)  will  be  found  most  convenient;  for  a  similar  wide  range 


350  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

of  literary  data  of  religion  as  inner  life,  Stratton  will  serve  best. 
James  (2)  and  Starbuck  (i)  offer  valuable  personal  confessions  in 
abundance.  Cutten  (i)  has  collected  typical  data  on  a  wide 
range  of  topics,  but  his  analysis  is  popular  rather  than  critical. 
As  to  points  of  view,  emphasis  upon  religion  as  affective  life  is 
represented  by  James  (2),  Pratt  (2),  and  Starbuck  (i  and  2); 
functionalism  that  connects  religion  with  biological  processes  is 
represented  by  Ames  (5)  and  King  (9);  Stratton  emphasizes 
logical  relations  more  than  functions;  Wundt  is  more  interested 
in  ideational  structure  and  history  than  in  the  functions  involved; 
Hoffding  (i)  has  produced  the  locus  classicus  on  religion  as  valua- 
tion; Leuba's  general  works  (21  and  24),  which  deal  primarily 
with  the  establishment  of  a  positivistic  conception,  and  with  the 
differentiation  of  religion  from  magic,  are  to  be  followed  by  one 
or  more  others  that  will  deal  in  greater  detail  with  the  content 
of  religion;  Durkheim  endeavors  to  derive  the  primitive  religious 
ideas  wholly  from  the  organized  life  of  primitive  groups. 

EFFORTS  TO  DETERMINE  THE  FUNDAMENTAL  PSYCHOLOGICAL 
CHARACTERISTICS  OF  RELIGION 

In  addition  to  the  general  works  on  the  psychology  of  religion, 
already  listed,  see  Leuba  (24),  who  gives  on  pp.  339-61  a  classified 
list  of  definitions  of  religion;  Starbuck  (2);  Wright  (i);  Colvin; 
Seashore;  Marshall  (i,  2,  4);  McDougall  (i);  Calkins  (2);  Perry 
(i,  3,  4);  Wundt  (i,  III,  509  ff.);  Aschkenasy. 

SOUL,  SELF,  PERSON 

In  general,  and  primarily,  "  soul "  is  a  metaphysical  conception, 
"self"  a  psychological  conception,  and  "person"  an  ethical  and 
legal  conception.  A  further  distinction  has  to  be  made  between 
the  primitive  notions  of  body-soul  (Korperseele) ,  and  separable 
soul  or  "spirit."  On  the  rise  and  development  of  these  notions, 
see  Ames  (5,  chap,  vi);  Wundt  (i,  Vol.  IV);  Durkheim,  and  the 
bibliography  of  primitive  religion. 

On  the  present  status  of  the  doctrine  of  the  soul,  see 
McDougall  (2). 

The  concept  "soul"  has  largely  disappeared  from  psychology. 
But  "self"  remains,  (a)  It  refers  to  the  individual  uniqueness  and 


TOPICAL  BIBLIOGRAPHY  351 

unity  of  mental  life,  (b)  Consciousness  of  self  is  commonly  sup- 
posed to  depend  upon  organic  sensations,  or  upon  kinesthetic 
sensations,  (c)  But  the  increasing  prominence  in  psychology  of 
the  motor  aspects  of  mind  (desire,  attitude,  action,  adjustment), 
tends  toward  a  further  determination  of  the  self  as  a  dynamic 
unity.  See  Judd  (i,  2,  3),  and  James  (3).  (d)  Further,  analysis 
of  the  genesis  and  growth  of  self-consciousness  shows  that  self- 
consciousness  is  itself  social  consciousness.  See  Royce  (i,  2,  3); 
Mead  (5,6);  Baldwin;  Cooley. 

A  good  idea  of  the  place  of  the  "self"  in  present  psychology 
can  be  had  by  comparing  the  following  with  one  another: 
James,  W.,  Principles  of  Psychology,  Vol.  I,  chap.  x. 
Pillsbury,  W.  B.,  Essentials  of  Psychology,  chap.  xvi. 
Stout,  G.  F.,  Groundwork  of  Psychology,  chaps,  xiv,  xviii. 
Angell,  J.  R.,  Psychology,  chap,  xxiii. 
Judd,  C.  H.,  Psychology,  chap.  xii. 
Calkins,  M.  W.,  Introduction  to  Psychology,  chaps,  i  and  xii. 

In  the  article,  "The  Self  in  Scientific  Psychology"  (American 
Journal  of  Psychology,  XXVI  [1915],  495-524),  Professor  Calkins 
gives  many  footnote  references  to  sources. 

A  "person"  is  primarily  one  who  has  rights  or  value  that 
entitles  him  to  a  place  in  our  ultimate  regard.  But  the  present 
tendency  to  think  of  the  self  as  social  and  dynamic,  and  the 
growing  prominence  of  the  study  of  values,  are  reducing  the 
distance  between  the  concept  of  "self"  and  that  of  "person." 

On  the  significance  of  "persons"  for  the  Christian  religion, 
see  Buckham  (i);  Royce  (4). 

On  the  nature  of  our  knowledge  of  persons,  and  of  our  fellow- 
ship with  them,  see  Schiller  (3);  Coe  (9);  Bradley,  chap.  xiv. 

On  the  problem  of  personality  in  the  psychology  of  religion, 
seeRuyssen;  Fite. 

On  personal  immortality,  see  Schiller  (1,3);  Howison;  Hyslop 
(i,  2);  Runze;  Hall  (2);  Bergson  (2);  Bradley;  Leuba  (8,  34). 

VALUES 

For  a  general  classified  bibliography  of  value,  see  "Bibliog- 
raphies." 

Works  on  general  psychology  rarely  contain  anything  specific 
on  valuation.  But  discussions  of  feeling,  sentiment,  and  volition 


352  THE"  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

touch  upon  the  root  ideas  involved,  as  e.g.,  AngelPs  Psychology 
(revised  edition,  New  York,  1908),  p.  320  and  chap.  xxi. 

The  only  extensive  general  psychological  discussion  of  values 
in  English  is  that  of  Urban.  It  is  fundamental  and  critical,  but 
it  suffers  from  a  highly  abstract  method  of  presentation.  The 
interest  of  Miinsterberg  (i)  is  that  of  philosophical  construction 
rather  than  of  psychological  analysis. 

On  kinds  and  classifications  of  value,  see  Tufts;  Moore,  A.  W. ; 
Moore,  J.  S.  (i  and  2);  Coe  (4);  Perry  (4);  Messer. 

On  the  relation  of  value  to  (a)  validity  as  a  whole,  including 
belief  in  the  external  world;  (6)  social  consciousness,  and  (c)  the 
problem  of  teleology  and  of  the  existence  of  God,  see  Rogers  (1,3). 
Urban  in  chap,  ii  opens  the  question  as  to  the  senses  in  which 
valuation  implies  reality.  His  final  conclusion  (pp.  422  ff.)  is  that 
"worth  experience  in  its  entirety  corresponds  to  a  larger  world 
of  reality  than  the  limited  regions  of  existence  and  truth"  (p.  427), 
and  that  "existence"  and  "truth"  have  meaning  as  predicates 
"only  when  they  add  to  the  intrinsic  value  or  reality  of  an  im- 
pression or  idea"  (p.  427).  The  relation  of  this  to  voluntarism 
and  pragmatist  tendencies  may  be  gathered  from  p.  54:  "In 
general,  then,  we  may  conclude  that  feeling  of  value  is  the  feeling 
aspect  of  conative  process,  as  distinguished  from  the  feeling-tone 
of  simple  presentations." 

RELIGION  AS  SOCIAL  EXPERIENCE 

For  the  bibliography  of  social  psychology,  see  under  "Bibliog- 
raphies." 

Concerning  the  instinctive  bases  of  social  satisfactions,  see 
McDougall  (i);  Thorndike  (2,  chaps,  vii  and  viii). 

On  the  genesis  and  nature  of  the  ego-social  consciousness,  see 
Mead  (2,  3,  4,  5,  6);  Baldwin;  Cooley;  Royce  (i,  2,  3). 

On  the  objects  of  social  consciousness — what  they  are,  and 
how  they  are  known — see  Ames  (6);  Coe  (9);  Boodin  (i,  2). 

On  crowds  and  other  assemblies,  see  Le  Bon;  Tawney;  Wallis, 
chap,  viii;  Gardner;  Trotter. 

On  the  social  functions  of  religion,  see  "Bibliographies  of 
Primitive  Religion";  Durkheim;  Wundt(i);  Royce  (4);  Adams; 


TOPICAL  BIBLIOGRAPHY  353 

Marshall  (i,  2,  4,  5);  Draghicesco;  Ellwood;  Haw;  Overstreet; 
Fite;   Rumbull;   Coe  (2,  chap.  xi). 


THE  PHENOMENA  or  CONVERSION  AND  OF  REVIVALS 

For  the  earliest  studies  of  the  psychology  of  conversion,  see 
references  to  Hall,  Daniels,  Leuba,  Burnham,  Lancaster,  and 
Starbuck  in  the  first  footnote  of  chap.  i.  The  most  extended 
study  is  that  of  Starbuck  (i),  with  which  compare  James  (2, 
Lectures  IX,  X) ;  Hall  (i,  Vol.  II,  chap,  xiv) ;  Coe  (i,  chaps,  i-iii, 
ands);  Caldecott;  Prince  (i);  Tawney(i);  Fursac  (i). 

On  counter-conversions,  see  Heidel;   Burr. 

On  revivals,  see  Davenport;  Dike;  Morrison;  Fryer;  Bois; 
Fursac  (2). 

THE  SUBCONSCIOUS 

The  subconscious  makes  its  appearance  in  a  great  number  of 
recent  writings.  Many  psychologists  have  dealt  with  the  general 
concept  of  mental  life  below  the  "threshold,"  as  James  Ward  in 
his  article  "Psychology"  in  the  Britannica  (XXII,  559  f.),  and 
Miinsterberg,  in  Grundzuge  der  Psychologic  (Leipzig,  1900),  I, 
215-31.  On  the  other  hand,  popular  writings  on  mental  healing, 
self-control,  telepathy,  spiritism,  and  religion  commonly  assume 
as  established  a  great  deal  that  is  not  recognized  by  professional 
psychologists.  There  is  comparatively  little  literature  that  deals 
critically  with  particular  facts  that  are  thoroughly  ascertained. 
The  student  should  bear  in  mind  that  subconscious  processes  and 
mechanisms  are  not  open  to  observation.  They  should  not  be 
taken  as  facts,  but  as  inferences.  The  question  "Just  what  has 
been  observed,  and  what  has  been  inferred?"  may  well  accom- 
pany the  reading  of  instances.  Much  first-hand  material  in  the 
way  of  instances  will  be  found  scattered  through  the  Proceedings 
of  the  Society  for  Psychical  Research.  The  interpretation  of  them 
in  terms  of  a  "  subliminal  self  "  comes  chiefly  from  Myers,  F.  W.  H., 
Human  Personality  and  Its  Survival  of  Bodily  Death  (London, 
1903).  Another  theory  of  a  sort  of  second  self  has  appeared 
in  many  medical  writings,  particularly  of  the  Freudian  school. 
Morton  Prince  (4)  distinguishes  a  "co-consciousness"  and  an 


354  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 

"unconsciousness,"  both  of  which  he  regards  as  having  psychical 
quality.  Further  points  of  view  will  be  found  in  Prince  (2,  3), 
and  a  criticism  of  the  whole  notion  of  a  "detached  subconscious- 
ness"  in  Pierce  (i,  2,  3,  4).  Jastrow  (i  and  2)  gives  the  most 
extended  discussion  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  professional 
psychologist. 

On  the  subconscious  in  religious  experience,  see  James  (2, 
Index  under  "Subconscious");  Coe  (7);  Pratt  (8);  King  (5); 
Strong  (2). 

On  glossolalia  (or  "speaking  in  tongues"),  see  Henke  (i); 
Hayes;  Mosiman;  Lombard;  Le  Baron;  Pfister. 

THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  MYSTICISM 

In  the  following  list  an  effort  is  made  to  pick  out  from  the 
enormous  literature  of  mysticism  a  very  short  set  of  writings  that 
will  enable  the  beginner:  (a)  to  recognize  the  mystical  tradition 
in  various  religions;  (b)  to  realize  vividly  how  certain  experiences 
seem  to  the  mystic  himself;  (c)  to  become  acquainted  with  the 
main  types  of  religious  interpretation  of  the  present  day,  and 
(d)  to  distinguish  from  all  these  the  specifically  psychological 
analyses  that  have  thus  far  been  made. 

On  the  mystical  tradition  in  Catholicism,  see  Poulain;  in 
Protestantism,  Jones  (i)  and  Inge  (i) ;  for  an  attempt  to  establish 
the  unity  of  both,  Underbill  (2). 

On  the  mystical  tradition  in  other  religions,  see  Abelson; 
Nicholson;  Rhys-Davids;  any  exposition  of  Hinduism. 

On  how  mystical  experiences  seem  to  the  mystic  himself, 
there  is  nothing  more  vivid  or  detailed  than  St.  Teresa's  descrip- 
tions of  her  own  experiences  in: 

St.  Teresa,  an  Autobiography,  ed.  by  J.  J.  Burke,  New  York,  1911. 
The  Life  of  St.  Teresa  of  Jesus,  Written  by  Herself,  ed.  by  D.  Lewis. 
The  Interior  Castle,  London,  1904. 
See  also  James  (2,  Lectures  XVI,  XVII);  Hugel;  Inge  (2). 

For  the  exposition,  defense,  and  criticism  of  mysticism,  see 
Underbill  ( i,  3);  Hugel;  Sharpe;  Buckham  (2);  Fleming;  Jones 
(3);  Boutroux;  Hocking,  Part  V;  Ewer;  Peabody;  Russell  (3). 

For  psychological  analyses,  see  Leuba  (6,  7,  12);  Delacroix; 
Royce  (i,  6);  Coe  (3,  6,  12);  Ames  (10). 


TOPICAL  BIBLIOGRAPHY  355 

THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  PRAYER 

A  brief  classified  bibliography  of  history  and  forms  of  prayer 
will  be  found  in  Marett's  article  "Prayer,"  in  the  Encyclopaedia 
Britannica. 

On  the  origins  of  prayer,  see  Farnell,  Lecture  IV,  "The 
Evolution  of  Prayer  from  Lower  to  Higher  Forms";  Marett 
(i,  chap,  ii:  "From  Spell  to  Prayer"),  also  (3);  Ames  (5,  chap, 
viii);  Wundt  (i,  last  volume,  pp.  449-59). 

On  prayer  as  a  present-day  problem  of  Christians,  see 
Coe  (2,  chap,  xi);  Fosdick;  Ames  (9). 

On  the  psychological  structure  and  functions  of  prayer,  see 
Strong  (i,  2);  Pratt  (5);  Calkins  (6);  Ranson;  Beck;  Hartshorne. 


INDEX 


[This  Index  covers  all  specific  references  to  authors  in  the  text 
and  all  descriptive  matter  in  the  Topical  Bibliography.  For  a  com- 
plete list  of  authors  see  the  Alphabetical  Bibliography.] 


ABLER,  F.,  242  (note  i). 

Adolescence,  79  f.,  94,  in,  163  ff., 
165  (note),  195. 

Aesthetic  experience,  40,  227, 
249.  See  also  Art;  Beauty, 
Religion  of. 

ALLONES,  G.  R.  DE,  210  (note). 

AMES,  E.  S.,  ix,  2  (note  3),  n,  21 
(note  2),  28  (note),  30  (note  2), 
56,  71  f.,  325  (note),  350. 

AMOS,  109  f.,  182. 

Anesthesia,  158  ff.,  195,  267,  278. 

ANGELL,  J.  R.,  21  (note  2),  33,  35. 

Animism,  83,  102,  231  (note). 
See  also  Spiritism,  Ancient  and 
Modern. 

Anthropology,  51  ff.,  76  ff. 

Anthropomorphism,  91  f.,  97, 
100  f.,  212,  227,  237,  249  f.,  258, 
303,  306. 

ANTIN,  M.,  164  (note  i). 

Architecture,  in  f. 

Art,  noff.,  251.  See  also  Aes- 
thetic experience;  Beauty,  Re- 
ligion of. 

Artistic  inspirations,  199  ff. 

Asceticism,  137,  147  ff. 

Assurance.  See  Witness  of  the 
Spirit. 

Astarte,  94. 

Augury,  304. 

AUGUSTINE,  3,  155. 

Authority,  xi,  126,  128,  130,  136, 
146.  See  also  Dogma;  Free- 
dom. 

Autobiographies,  Religious,  50, 
347- 

Automatisms,  177, 185, 187, 188  f., 
190,  193  ff.,  209,  264,  267,  268, 
272,  278  f.,  287  f.,  298. 


Babylonian  religion,  108,  286. 
BAKEWELL,  C.  M.,  258  (note). 
BALDWIN,  J.  M.,  27  (note). 
Baptism,  91,  114. 
Baptist  churches,  155. 
Beauty,  Religion  of,  69. 
BEECHER,  H.  W.,  200. 
Belief,    Religion    considered    as, 

59  f.,     61.    See    also    Dogma; 

Theology. 
BENEDICT  XIV,  9. 
BERGSON,  H.,  291  (note  i). 
Bible,  5,  115,  304. 
BINET,  A.,  45  (note). 
Biology,  x,  22-25, 35  ff.,  231  (note). 

See  also  Evolution. 
Body  and  mind,  277  f.     See  also 

Animism. 

BOODIN,  J.  E.,  256  (note). 
BRADLEY,  F.  H.,  255  (note). 
BREASTED,  J.  H.,  90  (note),  98. 
BROWNING,  R.,  206. 
BRYANT,  W.  C.,  200. 
Buddhism,   60,    154,    162,    172  f., 

i88f.,  223,  239  f.,  271,  281  f. 
BURNHAM,  W.  H.,  i  (note  i). 
BURR,  A.  R.,  50  (note). 
BURROUGHS,  J.,  73. 

CALKINS,  M.  W.,  19  (note  2),  252  f. 
CARVER,  T.  N.,  243  (note  4). 
Catholic  church,  9,  263,  266,  273, 

275,^280,  281,  306. 
Catholic  writers  on  psychology  of 

religion,  347. 
Celibacy,  150,  279. 
Ceremonies  and  festivals,  79,  86, 

88,  90,  97,  105,  108,  in,  114, 

123,  1251.,  128,  139,  180,  182, 

184,  236. 


357 


358 


THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 


Childhood,  99,  195  (note  i),  198, 
298.  See  also  Adolescence. 

Christ,  The  Living,  269,  273,  296. 

Christian  religion,  The,  xii  f.,  3  f., 
Sf.,  70,  93  f.,  109-11,  114  f-, 
129,  151  (note),  154  f.,  157, 
1842.,  226,  241,  259  f.,  2692., 
275,  276  f.,  283,  287,^304,  309, 
319.  See  also  Catholic  church; 
Protestantism. 

Christian  Science.  See  EDDY, 
MRS.  M.  B. 

Churches.  See  Institutions,  Reli- 
gious; Priesthood;  Catholic 
church;  Protestantism;  Chris- 
tian religion. 

Clairvoyance,  267. 

COE,  G.  A.,  i  (note  i),  41  (note  i), 
48  (note),  1 60  (note  i),  208 
(note),  278  (note  2). 

COIT,  S.,  100,  243  (note  5). 

Communion  with  God,  Sense  of, 
267. 

Confession,  316  f. 

Conservation  of  value,  71,  296  f. 

Contagion,  Mental.  See  Sug- 
gestion. 

Contemplation,  270,  302. 

Conversion,  i,  10,  46  f.,  chap,  x, 

353- 

COOLEY,  W.  F.,  xi  (note). 
Cosmic  consciousness,  267. 
Creeds,   114,   127,  128.    See  also 

Theology. 

CREIGHTON,  J.  E.,  32  (note). 
Crowd  action,   1195.,   132,   134, 

136,  144  (note). 
Crusades,  The,  119,  124. 
Culture,  Relation  of  religion  to, 

no  i.,  232  f. 
CUMONT,  F.,  154  (note). 
Custom,  77,  112,  123,  143. 
CUTTEN,  G.  B.,  350. 

Dance,   Religious,    79,    166,    176, 

194. 

DANIELS,  A.  H.,  i  (note  i). 
DARWIN,  C.,  218. 
Death,  xiv,  83  f.,  104,  241,  288. 

See     also     Spirits;      Spiritism; 

Future  life. 
Definition,  Nature  of,  59,  62. 


DELACROIX,  M.,  i  (note  2),  10, 
49  (note  2),  139,  281  (note). 

Deliberative  groups,  131  ff. 

Democracy  and  religion,  243,  319. 

Depressive  states.  See  Pleasure 
and  pain  in  religion. 

Desire,  Nature  of  human,  66  ff., 
172  f.,  218  ff.,  230,  300,  318,  320. 

DEWEY,  J.,  25  (note). 

DICKINSON,  G.  L.,  296  (note). 

DiKE,S.  W.,  156  (note). 

Dissociation,  Mental,  202  f .,  204  ff. 

Divided  self,  280  f. 

Dogma,  xii,  xv,  5  f.,  125,  126,  180, 
235,  244,  275.  See  also  The- 
ology; Authority. 

Doubts,  46,  276,  281. 

DOWIE,  J.  A.,  130,  180,  224 
(note  2). 

Drama,  The,  no. 

Dreams,  183,  205  (note). 

DUNLAP,  K.,  202  (note). 

DURKHEIM,  E.,  ix,  2  (note  i); 
10,  35o.$ 

Duty,  Religion  of,  69,  242  f. 

Ecclesiasticism.    See  Institutions, 

Religious;  Priesthood. 
Economic  values  and  religion,  40, 

70  (notes  i  and  3),  108  f. 
Ecstasy,  266  f. 
EDDY,  MRS.  M.  B.,  130,  180,  224 

(note  2),  281. 
Education,  67,  68,  in  f.,  126,  129, 

135,  145,  150,  222  (note). 
Ego  and  alter.     See  Self. 
Egyptian  religion,  90,  98,  108  f., 

287,  302. 
Einfiihlung,  99,  104,  173,  287,  292, 

297. 

ELLIS,  R.  S.,  296  (note). 
EMERSON,  R.  W.,  23,  200  f. 
Emotion,  160,  195,  312.    See  also 

Feeling. 
Emotional    thinking,    99  ff.    See 

also  Einfiihlung. 
Epilepsy,  278. 

ERIGENA,  JOHANNES  SCOTUS,  284. 
Ethical  value  and  religion,  40,  71 

(note),  74, 114, 149  f->  J54, 183  f., 

chap,  xiii,  249,  277,  309  f.,  317. 

See  also  Morals,  Religion  and. 


INDEX 


359 


Eucharist,  The,  91,  114,  127,  267, 

307- 

Evangelical  movement,  The,  155. 
Evil,  150.    See  also  Sin. 
Evolution,    52  f.,    115,    176,    189, 

190  f.,  215  &.,  221  (note  2),  244, 

268,289,293,318,325. 

FABER,  H.,  56. 

Faith,  134,  173,  242,  312,  318,  322. 

Fatigue,  279. 

Fear,  62  (note),  101, 126, 131,  138, 
225. 

Feeling,  Religion  as,  60. 

Fetishism,  87. 

FEUERBACH,  L.,  4. 

FICHTE,  256  (note). 

FISKE,  J.,  38. 

FLETCHER,  M.  S.,  3  (note  i). 

FOSDICK,  H.  E.,  318. 

FRANCIS,  ST.,  155. 

FRAZER,  J.  G.,  64  (note),  89. 

Freedom,  134,  138,  172,  242,  276. 
See  also  Authority. 

FREUD,  S.,  217  (note),  316,  353. 

Friends  of  God,  155. 

Friendship,  Religion  as,  262. 

Functions  of  religion:  the  concept 
of  function,  22ff.,  299  f.;  the 
functional  view  of  religion  as  a 
whole,  62  ff.,  65  ff.;  functions 
of  early  religion,  87  f.;  func- 
tional differentiation  of  reli- 
gion, 117;  functions  of  the 
religious  crowd,  124  f.,  143  f.; 
of  the  sacerdotal  group,  i2gS., 
144;  of  the  deliberative  group, 
133  ff.,  145  f.;  functions  of 
religion  with  respect  to  the  indi- 
vidual, 137  ff.,  143  ff.,  functions 
of  asceticism,  147  ff.;  of  con- 
version, 168  ff.;  of  the  shaman, 
177  ff.;  of  the  priest,  i8off.; 
of  the  prophet,  i86ff.;  of  reli- 
gious leadership  in  general, 
191  f.;  the  evolution  of  func- 
tions, 227  f.;  functions  of  mys- 
ticism, 279-85;  of  the  future 
in  the  life  of  the  present,  289, 
295;  of  prayer,  315-20.  See 
also  Psychology;  Psychology  of 
religion. 


Future  life,  181,  228,  chap.  xvii. 
See  also  Death;  Spirits. 

Geographic  factor  in  religions,  108. 

German  views  of  American  psy- 
chology of  religion,  56  ff. 

Ghost  dance,  79. 

Glossolalia,  185,  194,  211  (note  2). 

God:  ethical  significance  of,  xiv; 
fluidity  of  god-ideas,  59  f.;  Are 
gods  mere  means  to  human 
ends?  635.,  320;  nationalistic 
ideas  of  God,  75  (note);  mana 
the  tap  root  of  the  god-idea,  88; 
theriomorphic  and  anthropo- 
morphic gods,  91  f.,  97,  101  f.; 
genesis  of  the  idea  of  God,  chap, 
vi;  relation  of  god-ideas  to 
social  and  political  organization, 
109  f.;  god  and  priest,  i26f.; 
the  idea  of  god  in  deliberative 
religion,  135;  how  repressive 
conceptions  of  the  divine  arise, 
148;  no  dividing  line  between 
fellowship  with  men  and  with 
God,  173  f.,  245,  248;  the  God 
of  the  prophets,  184,  223,  228; 
God  as  personal,  237  f.;  the 
Christian  God,  241,  260,  271, 
283,  288  (see  also  Jesus);  why 
the  god-idea  grows,  257-59; 
pantheism,  267,  272;  divine 
response  to  prayer,  304-10; 
probable  permanence  of  faith 
in  God,  326.  See  also  Mana. 

GOERRES,  J.,  9  (note  i). 

GOETHE,  200,  282. 

Greece,  Religion  of,  86,  286. 

GRIGGS,  E.  H.,  243  (note  2). 

Group  conduct,  Religion  as,  chap, 
viii.  See  also  Social  aspects  of 
religion. 

Growth,  Religious,  154  f. 

Habit:  habit  formation,  129,  135, 
1 68;  habit  as  determining  group 
action,  1 23  f . ;  habit  and  auto- 
matisms, 272  f. 

HADLEY,  S.  H.,  168  (note). 

HALL,  G.  S.,  i  (note  i). 

Hallucinations,  205,  272,  287. 

HAMILTON,  W.  R.,  153,  204 
(note  2). 


THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 


HARRISON,  J.  E.,  49  (note  4),  86 

(note). 

HARTSHORNE,  H.,  55  (note). 
HAW,  G.,  242  (note  2). 
Healing,  Religious,  131,  187,  224 

(note  2),  267,  312,  316. 
Heaven  and  hell,  287,  289. 
HEGEL,  4. 

HEIDEL,  W.  A.,  154  (note). 
HENKE,  F.  G.,  211  (note  2). 
Hero-gods,  97. 
History  of  religion,  4. 
HOCKING,  W.  E.,  in  (note),  256 

(note). 
HOFFDING,  H.,  ix,  n,  55,  71,  296, 

350- 

Holiness,  114,  150,  267. 
HOLLINGWORTH,  H.  L.,  38  (note  3), 

39- 

HOLMES,  O.  W.,  201. 
Holy  Spirit,  The,  309. 

HOSEA,  109,  184. 

Human  nature.    See  Nature. 
Humanity,  The  religion  of,  243. 
HUME,  4. 

HUXLEY,  T.  H.,  248. 
Hypnosis.    See  Suggestion. 
HYSLOP,  J.  H.,  291,  292  (note). 
Hysteria,  278. 

Ideals,  134,  138,  242  f.  See  also 
Values. 

Ideational  factors  in  religion,  156!., 
164  f. 

Ideo-motor  action,  120  (note  2). 

Idols^S  f.,  305. 

Illumination.    See  Intuition. 

Illusion  of  the  finite,  272.  See 
also  Maya. 

Immediacy,  173  f.,  chap,  xv,  263, 
275,  282  f.,  285,  291. 

Immortality,  295  f.  See  also  Fu- 
ture life. 

India,  Religions  of,  151  (note), 
238  ff.,  263,  266,  270  f.,  273, 
275  ff.,  281,  283  f.,  286  f.,  302. 
See  also  Buddhism. 

Individual,  Religion  as  related  to 
the,  76,  91,  115  ff.,  132  f.,  i35, 
chap,  ix,  138,  140,  141, 162, 174, 
190,  197,  212,  236  f.,  250,  283. 
See  also  Self,  The. 


Ineffability     of     mystical     expe- 
rience, 269  f. 
Infancy,  142. 
Inner  life,  Religion  as,  144  f.,  263, 

3°9: 

Insanity,  278. 

Inspirations,  Religious,  80,  167 
(note),  184,  185,  194,  199  ff., 
203,  209,  211,  265,  267,  273,  282. 
See  also  Literary  inspirations. 

Instability,  Nervous.  See  Neu- 
rotic constitution. 

Instinct:  nature  of,  24  f.,  34,  41; 
the  social  instincts,  24  f.,  141, 
293;  basal  in  religion,  78;  in 
crowd  action,  123  f.;  in  de- 
liberative group  action,  133; 
instinct  and  reason,  137  ff.,  227; 
instinct  and  custom,  143;  in- 
stinct and  asceticism,  147  f.; 
sexual  instinct,  150,  163  ff.  (see 
also  Sex);  instinct  in  conver- 
sion, 156,  161  ff.;  Are  instincts 
good?  22of.;  Is  there  a  reli- 
gious instinct?  322  ff. 

Institutions,  Religious,  88,  109, 
112  ff.,  115,  193,  244.  See  also 
Social  aspects  of  religion. 

Intellect  in  religion,  145  f . 

Introspection,  45  f.,  252,  313. 

Intuition,  263,  268,  273,  274-76, 
322  f. 

ISAIAH,  154, 182,  224  (note  i),  259. 

Israel,  Religion  of,  76  (note),  82, 
94,  103,  io8ff.,  no,  129,  154, 
182  ff.,  223,  225  f.,  258  f.,  283, 
286  f.,  307. 

JAMES,  W.,  ix,  i  (notes  i  and  2), 
11,  16,  49  (note  2),  50,  56,  57, 
100,  138,  147  (note),  152,  158 
(note),  173,  261,  268,  269,  271, 
276  (note),  350. 

JANET,  P.,  278  (note  i). 

Jansenists,  The,  194  (note  2). 

JASTROW,  J.,  354. 

JEREMIAH,  224  (note  i). 

JESUS,  51,  no,  151,  184,  185,  186- 
88,  208  (note),  213,  223,  226, 
260,  262,  269,  283,  296,  317. 

JONES,  H.,  243  (note  5). 

JONES,  R.  M.,  155  (note  i). 


INDEX 


JUDD,  C.  H.,  26  (note). 
Justice    as    a    religious    concept, 
109  f.,  237,  240  f.,  243. 

KIDD,  B.,  137  (note  i). 
KING,  I.,  ix,  2  (note  i),  10,  n,  29 
(note  i),  30  (note  i),  56,  89  f., 

35°. 

Kingdom  of  God,  187,  226,  228. 
Knowledge  of  other  minds,  Our, 

254-56,  291. 

LADD,  G.  T.,  160  (note  2). 

LANCASTER,  E.  G.,  i  (note  i). 

Language,  143. 

Laymen,  146. 

Leaders,   Religious,    115  f.,   chap. 

xi,  223  f. 
LEUBA,  J.  H.,  ix,  xi,  i  (notes  i 

and  2),  2  (note  2),  10,  56,  63, 

65    (note),   66,   69    (note),    71, 

89,  255  (note),  350. 
LINCOLN,  A.,  188. 
Literary  inspirations,  199  ff.,  273, 

282. 

LLOYD,  H.  D.,  243  (note  5). 
Lot,  Casting  the,  304. 
Love,    24  f.,    109,    151,    154,    164 

(note  i),  185  f.,  188,  227,  253, 

256  f.,  259-62,  283  ff.,  293,  295, 

319.    See  also  Parental  instinct; 

Sex. 
LOVEJOY,  A.  O.,  41  (note  2),  67 

(note  i),  220. 
LUCRETIUS,  4,  154  (note). 
LUTHER,  155. 

Magic,    79,    82  f.,    84,    89  ff.,    97 

(note  i),  105,  264. 
Man.   See  Nature:  human  nature. 
Mana,  59,  81,  88,  90,  96,  98,  104, 

144,  237,  306. 
MARIE,  A.,  194  (note  2). 
MARSHALT,  H.  R.,  137  (note  2), 

139,  220,  256  (note). 
MARY,  THE  VIRGIN,  151,  273. 
Mass,  The.     See  Eucharist. 
MATHER,  COTTON,  206  (note). 
MAY,  M.  A.,  54  (note  2). 
Maya,  239. 
MCDOUGALL,  W.,  24  (note),  163 

(note  i),  231  (note). 


MEAD,  G.  H.,  21  (note  2), 
142. 

Medicine  man.    See  Shaman. 

Mediumship,  267,  294. 

Metempsychosis,  287. 

Methodism,  145  (note). 

Mind  reading,  178,  206  (note). 

MOHAMMED,  and  Mohammedan- 
ism, 129,  188,  190,  209,  223, 
273,  277,  281,  302. 

Moki  snake  dance,  79. 

Monarchic  conceptions  of  God, 
109,  148. 

MONOD,  G.,  210  (note). 

Monotheism,  75  (note),  109. 

MONTGERON,  194  (note  2). 

MOORE,  A.  W.,  40  (note  2). 

MOORE,  J.  S.,  35  (note). 

Morals,  Religion  and,   no,   125, 

128,  280.    See     also     Ethical 
value  and  religion. 

Morbidness,  155  (note  3). 
Mormonism,  130,  180. 

MtJNSTERBERG,     H.,     32       (note), 

352. 

Multiple  personality,  210  f. 
MURISIER,  E.,  245  (note). 
Music,  rhythm,  etc.,  in  religion, 

no,    158,    166  f.,    167    (note), 

176. 

MYERS,  F.  W.  H.,  353. 
Mystery  cult,  127,  154. 
Mysticism,  xiii,  2,  139,  155,  chap. 

xvi,  302,  354. 
Myth  and  mythology,  84  f.,  no. 

NASSAU,  R.  H.,  87   (note),   100 

(note). 
National  religions  and  nationalism 

in  religion,  74  (note),  109,  126, 

129,  181,  237,  242. 

Nature:  natural  law,  170  (note), 
214,  215,  221;  nature-powers 
97,  105;  nature  and  man,  213  f.; 
human  nature,  216  f.,  221,  241, 
chap.  xix. 

Neo-Platonism,  284. 

Neurotic  constitution,  188,  190, 
278,  281.  See  also  Pathological 
states. 

New  Thought,  140  (note),  267. 

Non-religious  persons,  321. 


362 


THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 


Nutrition  as  a  mental  function, 

36  f.,  216. 

OGDEN,  R.  M.,  32  (note). 
Omens,  307.    See  also  Augury. 
Oracles,  178,  267. 
Oratorical  inspiration,  200. 
Originality,    192,    201,    282,   318. 

See  also  Evolution. 
OVERSTREET,  H.  A.,  260  (note). 

Painting  and  sculpture,  in,  305  f. 

Pantheism,  267,  284. 

Parental   instinct,    n  f.,    24,    94, 

162  f.,  164  (note  i),  236  f.,  293, 

299  f. 
PASCAL,  3. 
Passivity,  271  f. 
Pathological  states,  175,  188. 
PAUL,   2,   155,   184  ff.,   188,   190, 

225,  226,  277. 
Peace  of  mind,  149, 310. 
PEARSON,  K.,  256  (note). 
Persian    religion.     See    Zarathus- 

tra,  and  Zoroastrianism. 
Persons,  chap,  ii,  30,  42,  67,  227  f., 

chap,  iv;    233  ff.,  239,  245,  267, 

288,    292,   320,   350.    See  also 

Self,  The. 

Philosophy,  96,  no,  232,  251. 
Philosophy  of  religion,  4. 
PIERCE,  A.  H.,  203,  354. 
Play,  40. 
Pleasure    and    pain    in    religion, 

137  ff.,  149,  269,  276. 
PODMORE,  F.,  292  (note). 
Political   organizations    and   reli- 
gion, 109. 
Possession,    177,    184,    185,    208, 

212  f.,  263,  265  ff.,  272. 
"Power,  The,"  123,  194. 
PRATT,    J.    B.,    ix,    i    (note    2), 

2  (note  3),  10,  350. 
Prayer,  90,  114,  127  f.,  137,  chap. 

xviii.    See  also  Worship. 
Premonitions,  267. 
Presence  of  another,   Experience 

of  the,  197  f.,  246,  267,  273  f. 

Priesthood,  80,  112,  1255.,  134, 
144,  176,  iSoff.,  184,  185,  187, 
189,  308  f.,  319. 

Primitive  man,  77  (note). 


PRINCE,  M.,  207  (note  i),  217 
(note),  353  f. 

Prophets  and  prophetism,  176, 
182  ff.,  206,  223,  228,  238,  248  f., 
250,  257-59,  265  f.,  282,  283, 

309- 

Protestantism,  6,  9,  109,  115, 
134  f.,  145,  154,  275,  302. 

PSEUDO-DlONYSIUS,  284. 

Psychic  research,  265,  289  ff., 
294  (note). 

Psychology :  the  psychologist's 
fallacy,  xi,  170  (note);  the 
newness  of  scientific  psychology, 
5;  structural  and  functional 
points  of  view,  chap,  ii,  230  ff. 
(see  also  Functions  of  religion; 
Structure) ;  psychology  as  analy- 
sis of  states  of  consciousness, 
15-17;  as  analysis  of  behavior, 
1 7  f . ;  as  analysis  of  the  expe- 
rience of  being  a  personal  self, 
19  ff.,  27,  31,  252  f.;  the  nature 
of  mental  functions,  32-42; 
abnormal  psychology.  20;  order- 
of-merit  method,  38  (note  3), 
54;  genetic  psychology,  141; 
evolution  of  mind,  215  ff.,  299; 
modern  psychology  not  intel- 
lectualistic,  230;  psychology 
deals  with  experience  as  shared, 
246  ff.,  253;  psychic  research, 
2892.;  current  psychological 
publications,  346. 

Psychology  of  religion,  The:  is  in 
its  first  stages,  ix;  early  writers 
on,  i  f.;  previous  attempts  to 
psychologize  religion,  2  ff.;_  psy- 
chology covers  all  religious 
experiences,  7  ff.;  problems  of 
both  structure  and  function  are 
included,  ioff.,  57;  question  cir- 
culars as  sources  of  data,  44 ff-; 
sacred  literatures  as  a  source 
49  ff . ;  anthropology  as  a  source, 
51  ff.;  experimental  methods 
in  the  psychology  of  religion, 
53  ff.;  American  work  in,  56  ff.; 
Wundt's  view  as  to  method, 
57  f.;  psychology  of  religion 
essential  to  a  history  of  mind, 
233;  bibliographies  of  the  psy- 


INDEX 


363 


chology  of  religion,  346;  maga- 
zines of,  347  f.;  cyclopedias, 
348;  history  of  psychology  of 
religion,  349;  methods,  349; 
general  works,  349. 

Question  circulars,  442. 

Racial  traits  in  religion,  116  f.;  123. 

Reality,  Knowledge  of,  229  ff. 

Reason  and  religion,  137  ff. 

Relaxation,  Muscular,  140,  276, 
282. 

Religion:  as  an  object  of  study, 
chap,  i;  on  definitions  of  reli- 
gion, 13  (note),  59;  religion  a 
complex  function,  41;  prelimi- 
nary analysis  of,  chap,  iv; 
defined  as  belief,  59,  61 ;  as  feel- 
ing, 60;  as  a  whole  reaction, 
60  f . ;  conceived  functionally, 
62  (see  also  Functions  of  reli- 
gion); as  a  social  fact,  62  f., 
143  (see  also  Social  aspects  of 
religion);  related  to  both  the 
ends  and  the  means  of  life,  63  ff., 
137  ff.;  religion  and  values, 
68  ff.,  chap,  xiii  (see  also  Values) ; 
beginnings  of  religion  in  the 
race,  chap,  v;  earliest  religion 
a  group  affair,  76  f.;  a  matter 
of  custom,  77;  not  a  depart- 
ment of  life,  78;  grows  out  of 
instincts,  78;  main  features  of 
early  religion,  79  ff.;  mobility 
of  religion,  98;  differentiation 
of  religion  into  religions,  chap, 
vii;  Is  the  religious  reaction 
painful?  137  ff.  (see  also  Pleas- 
ure and  pain  in  religion);  reli- 
gion as  inner  life,  144  f.,  263, 
309;  as  individuation,  146; 
religion  not  co-extensive  with 
conversion  or  with  sense  of  sin, 
154;  ideational  elements  in, 
i56f.;  sensory  elements  in, 
i57ff.;  religion  and  adolescence, 
1 66;  religion  as  ethical  com- 
munion, 184-86;  as  reverence 
for  truth,  248  f.;  religion  and 
the  subconscious,  chap,  xii; 
religion  a  discovery  of  persons 


and  of  society,  chap,  xiv;  reli- 
gion as  friendship,  262;  bibli- 
ographies, 327-45,  346-55. 

Revivals  of  religion,  119,  123, 
125,  155  f.,  157  (note),  161,  167, 
267,  312,353. 

RHYS-DAVIDS,  C.  A.  F.,  271  (note). 

Ritual,  112,  114,  126,  127,  128 
(note),  134,  138,  139,  302.  See 
also  Ceremonies  and  festivals. 

Roman  religion,  98  (note),  no, 
124,  154,  305. 

ROYCE,  J.,  49  (note  2),  62  (note), 
256  (note). 

Sacerdotalism.    See  Priesthood. 
Sacrament,    81,    i26f.    See    also 

Eucharist;  Baptism. 
Sacred  and  secular,  113,  236. 
Sacrifice,  81  f.,  126  f.,  304,  306. 
SALTER,  W.  M.,  242  (note  i). 
Salvation,  131,  147  f.,  226. 
Satan,  309. 
SAUL,  182,  265. 
Savage   mind,  The,  52,  chap,  v, 

98  ff.,  226  f.,  264. 
SCHILLER.  F.  C.  S.,  291  (note  i), 

296  (note),  297. 

SCHLEIERMACHER,  3,  60. 
SCHROEDER,  T.,  94  (note). 

Science  and  scientific  method: 
each  science  selects  its  data,  x, 
xi  (note),  244^;  dogmatism 
in  science,  xv,  244;  the  religion 
of  science,  69,  248;  influence 
of  the  sciences  upon  religion, 
nof.;  the  concept  of  nature 
(see  Nature);  the  universality 
of  scientific  propositions,  172 
(note),  231  (note), _  239;  science 
not  the  whole  of  discovery,  233, 
243  f.;  phenomenalism,  234  f.; 
scientific  hypothesis,  247  f.;  sci- 
ence and  immediacy,  247-49, 
251,  256  f. 

Scriptures,  Sacred,  126. 

Self,  The,  19  ff.,  27,  41,  133,  138, 
141  ff.,  152  f.,  i6of.,  162,  164, 
169,  171,  195  ff.,  213,  252-54, 
280  f.,  318  f.,  322  (note),  350  f. 
See  also  Individual,  Religion 
as  related  to  the;  Persons. 


364 


THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION 


Sensation  a  factor  in  religious 
experiences,  157  ff.,  164,  278. 

Sex  and  reproduction,  24  f.,  37  f., 
80,  86,  92  ff.,  150,  163  flf.,  165, 
175,  216,  222  (note),  279,  281, 

293- 

Shamanism,  80,  176  ff.,  182!., 
187,  190,  265  f.,  270. 

SHARPE,  A.  B.,  9  (note  i). 

SHELDON,  W.  L.,  243  (note  i). 

Sin,  46,  138,  1495.,  154,  225  f., 
228,  277,  310. 

SMITH,  JOSEPH,  130,  180. 

Social  aspects  of  religion:  society 
as  adjustment  between  selves, 
27  f.,  235  f.;  as  an  ultimate 
mental  category,  39;  society 
is  involved  in  individual  con- 
sciousness, 67  f.,  197,  250  ff. 
(see  also  Self,  The);  grades  of 
society,  125,  228;  the  social 
instincts,  141;  social  values  in 
religion,  69,  71  f.,  87  f.,  109  f., 
119 ff.,  162,  171  ff.,  213;  so- 
cial organization  of  religion, 
chap,  viii  (see  also  Churches); 
religion  as  social  control,  137, 
140,  190,  191  f.;  religion  and 
the  social  movement  of  today, 
115,  226,  233  f.,  240  f.,  242, 
256  f.;  the  future  life  as  a  social 
problem,  294  f.;  prayer  as 
social  sharing,  315-17;  pre- 
eminence of  social  instincts, 
324;  bibliography  of  social  psy- 
chology, 347;  references  on 
religion  as  social  experience,  352. 

Soul,  The,  350  f.  See  also  Anim- 
ism; Spirits;  Self. 

SPENCER,  H.,  38. 

SPILLER,  G.,  243  (note  5). 

Spiritism,  Ancient  and  Modern, 
265,  267  f.,  286,  289,  353.  See 
also  Animism. 

Spirits,  83  f.,  97,  102  ff.,  257,  264, 
265,  267. 

STAEHLIN,  W.,  54  (note  i). 

STANTON,  H.  C.,  210  (note). 

STARBUCK,  E.  D.,  ix,  i  (note  i), 
10,  44,  47  (note),  56,  57,  152, 
153  (note),  154, 162, 171,  350. 

STONE,  B.  W.,  194  (note  i). 


STRATTON,  G.  M.,  ix,  2  (note  2), 
10,  49  (note  3),  56,  256  (note), 

35°- 

STRONG,  A.  L.,  314. 

Structure:  structural  and  func- 
tional psychology,  chap,  ii,  221, 
230  ff.;  structural  aspects  of 
the  idea  of  God,  97  f.;  of  the 
crowd,  120-24;  °f  the  sacerdo- 
tal group,  126-29;  of  the  delib- 
erative group,  131-33;  of 
conversion,  156-58;  evolution  of 
man  considered  structurally, 
215-19;  structure  of  mystical 
experiences,  268-79;  structure 
and  function  not  exactly 
parallel,  298  f.;  structure  of 
prayer,  303-1 5. 

Subconscious,  The,  xiv,  6  (note), 
167,  chap,  xii,  270,  353. 

Suggestion,  80,  120  f.,  126  ff., 
128  f.,  132,  151,  166,  173,  177  f., 
187,211,267,274-78,311  f.,3i7. 

SUNDAY,  BILLY,  123. 

Supernatural,  The,  9,  207  f.,  263. 

Symbolism,  114,  127,  134  f.,  269, 
306. 

Taboo,  82,  113  f.,  128,  144,  181, 
288. 

TAGORE,  R.,  12,  21,  164  (note  i). 

Telepathy,  292,  353. 

TERESA,  ST.,  354. 

TERTULLIAN,  3. 

Testimony,  Religious,  170,  173. 

Theology,  3  f.,  87,  no,  115,  118, 
208  (note),  218,  232. 

Theosophy,  277. 

Theriomorphism,  91,  97,  101  f. 

THORNDIKE,  E.  L.,  18  (note  2), 
29  (note  2),  34  f.,  67  (note  2), 
120  (note  i),  148  (note  2),  163 
(note  i),  220,  222  (note). 

Todas,  Religion  of  the,  108. 

Tongues,  Speaking  in.  See  Glos- 
solalia. 

Totemism,  81,  101,  109,  114,  236, 
241  f.,  306. 

Trance,  166,  176  f.,  182,  185,  264, 
274. 

Transubstantiation.  See  Eucha- 
rist. 


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